Wait, Who Lived?
by Inexplicably Waiting
Summary: Everyone knows the story of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived...right? Guess again! The true events of that fateful Halloween night have been kept secret for everyone's safety. Why? Because Harry Potter isn't the only child that lived. HPxOC, AU. Rated for later.
1. Chapter 1: Wait, Who Lived?

**Author's Note:** This fic is not intended to strictly adhere to canon. Though many (or most) of its characters and recognizable elements of the plot are of course property of JKR, this story is AU. I don't own anything except my original character(s) and plot that deviates from Harry Potter canon universe.

**Chapter 1: Wait, Who Lived?**

Albus Dumbledore sat at the desk in his office, observing the mostly slumbering potraits of his predecessors, while attempting to organize his thoughts and feelings regarding the upcoming year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, at which he was Headmaster.

He had been preparing for the beginning of this particular term for almost a decade now. He expected these incoming first years would prove to be anything but ordinary and predicted that, for many, their experiences here at school were likely to be correspondingly outside of the everyday garden-variety.

The Headmaster was not alone in his anticipation of the new academic year at Hogwarts and its promising group of new students. Throughout the magical world, witches, wizards, and other magical beings had been awaiting the start of this term with widespread excitement and curiosity, for everyone knew that this year there would be a very special new first year attending Hogwarts. As of now, the child himself was still in the dark regarding his status and heritage as a wizard, though he should receive his notification letter shortly, but the rest of the magical community watched on, intrigued, waiting for the young boy's return to their society after his mysterious 10 year absence. After all, it wasn't every year that Hogwarts welcomed the arrival of the saviour of the entire magical world (and probably the Muggle world as well), it wasn't every year that one of Hogwarts' new students was Harry Potter, THE Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

While all this did indeed occupy a significant portion of Headmaster Dumbledore's consideration, he was truthfully more concerned about the arrival of another very exceptional new student, though the knowledge of just how exceptional was limited to only he and one other living person (though this classification could be considered questionable after exposure to the dementors of Azkaban for so many years). This student (thankfully) would not incite the media frenzy that Harry would, nor be gawked at by her peers. In fact with any luck, the little witch might just escape outsider scrutiny altogether. Like he said, they would need help from Lady Luck, but if he could keep her from drawing too much attention and keep everyone else from digging into her past, they might just pull it off. Unfortunately, he expected keeping the media away from the famous Harry Potter to be much easier than keeping the identity, past, and great importance of little Elizabeth Black to the fight against the Dark Lord a secret.

It certainly was an important year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, for the magical community as a whole actually. This was the year that the magical world welcomed back the Children-Who-Lived.

**Author's Note:** Let me know what you think! I know that I have several stories in their early chapters on the go right now, and I do fully intend on continuing them as well, I just find myself easily distracted by other story ideas bursting to get out, a distraction that is only encouraged by low review numbers. So the more reviews I get, the more likely I am to update frequently. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2: Departure Of The Freak

**Author's Note:** Though there are no particularly graphic descriptions, this chapter does include quite a lot of abuse (physical, mental, emotional, and verbal). I wouldn't consider anything in the chapter to be fully M-rated but I want to convey that much of it is in the very high T-rating range, so please don't continue reading if you are easily disturbed or offended by abuse or language.

Also, I intend to continue writing this story in third-person omniscient but want to warn that the perspective will likely jump around frequently during each chapter, as it does in this one. I hope to make the source of each new perspective fairly clear when it has obviously shifted, but let me know if there is any confusion.

I occasionally use italicized text to emphasize a _word_ or _short phrase_. However, _longer phrases and complete sentences that have been italicized are mental dialogue_. Hopefully, you should be able to tell the difference.

Thanks, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 2: Departure Of The Freak**

"BOY! YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO BE IN THE CAR READY TO GO WITH ALL YOUR FREAK STUFF IN THE BOOT OR YOU CAN JUST FIND YOUR OWN WAY TO THE BLOODY TRAIN STATION!" Harry was in the backseat of Uncle Vernon's car in under two minutes.

He had been up and fully packed, pacing his cupboard in anticipation, since five o'clock this morning. Harry was both incredibly nervous and incredibly excited for the day's upcoming events, preventing him from getting a sound night's sleep. It was a vicious circle really. His anxiety caused the short sleep he did manage to be a restless one, which he knew would leave him tired for the big day to follow, increasing his worries and thus making it even more difficult to sleep properly. He had badly wanted to a good, full night's rest that night to ensure that he was in top form when he arrived at King's Cross the next day. Harry was desperately hoping to be able to blend in (or at least to not be obviously noticed as someone who was clueless about magic and the magical world) but also wanted to be fully alert and aware so that he could absorb as much of the new information and experiences, which he was sure the day ahead would hold in abundance, as he possibly could into memory.

Admitedly though, it was not only nerves that had contributed to his difficult sleep (or lack thereof). The Dursleys had attemped to fully ignore Harry's very existence during the what remained of the holidays, after the incident on his birthday, out of lingering apprehension of the possible repercussions for interaction with the _freak_. It now seemed to him as though, they had been saving it all up for the final week. They had not fed him at all the week prior to his departure for school. Any food he managed to get his hands on had come from Dudley's rare leftovers (anyone could tell by a mere glance that the large boy rarely allowed anything he even remotely believed to be food to cross his path and be left uneaten) found in the garbage. He had remained locked in his cupboard for the majority of the days that week as well, only allowed out in the mid-afternoon to do the housework.

In addition to these restrictions, which Harry considered rather standard having been subjected to similar treatment from the Dursleys almost all his life, he was subject to Uncle Vernon's bad mood and temper five times that week, a record breaking count for him. The beatings during those last few days were increasingly violent and more cruel than most of the beatings he could _remember_ receiving over the years, reaching a staggering height in brutality on Harry's final night at Number 4 Privet Drive.

He suspected that Uncle Vernon's troubles at work, about which he had overheard the man ranting to his wife at a volume high enough to reach Harry within the confines of his cupboard, greatly contributed to the frequency and severity of his attentions.

Harry's presence had always allowed Vernon to release his frustrations and upon a victim entirely deserving of the punishment. His last night at the Dursley's, Vernon gave Harry such a thrashing that the boy was knocked unconscious for a few hours, waking up later in the evening to find his torso and legs covered in bruises and cuts, several large lumps on his head that were sure to be covered by his perpetually untamed hair once cleaned of blood, and a large burn on his shoulder blade that had obviously been received while unconscious as he (thankfully) didn't remember it being given to him.

_'I'M GOING TO KILL THAT DISGUSTING EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING THE SECOND I'M OLD ENOUGH TO CREATE THE OPPORTUNITY!' _Harry focused for several minutes on calming her down by trying to only think peaceful thoughts.

You heard right! Harry Potter heard voices in his head. Well, actually it was just one voice. One voice that had been present as long as he could remember and was decidedly feminine. Harry had only spoken of _her_ once and never planned to repeat the mistake.

When he was young, he had believed that hearing the _her_ was perfectly normal, that everyone heard other voices in their heads. Luckily, when he had made the mistake of mentioning the voice in front of his aunt, who had immediately reported the incident to her husband upon his return home from work, they assumed Harry had an imaginary friend rather than suspecting that he was actually hearing a voice in his head. The Dursleys insisted that there was no such thing as imagination. They finished the lecture by claiming that telling lies about such things was unnatural and disgusting and was a habit for which he would continue to be punished. Vernon followed this lecture with a beating that had been fairly severe at the time, since Harry had only been four. Harry had never again spoken of _her_ to anyone, even denying that he still heard _her_ when probingly questioned by Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, who occasionally checked hoping for a reason to teach the boy a lesson.

Once Harry was old enough to realize that everyone did NOT hear a different voice in their head and that it was NOT normal, he started to become concerned. The voice was definitely not his. It was, without a doubt, a girl's voice and her personality was distinctly different from his own. The older he got, the more confused he was about who or what the voice actually was. Once he knew its presence wasn't normal he thought he was just crazy. But the more he thought about it, the less sense it all made. She never directed his actions, usually she just talked to him. That would have made sense, after all his life was incredibly lonely, were it not for all the other aspects. Sometimes he would overhear thoughts that were not purposefully directed at him, almost as though they just slipped through to him. Sometimes he would catch actually images and scenes from someone else's life, or memories that did not belong to him, all accompanied by the owners corresponding thoughts. Harry was positive that these thoughts were all in _her_ voice. He wasn't sure if he had just imagined all this and deluded himself into thinking that there actually was a voice whose thoughts he could hear, his subconscious trying to combat the loneliness of his miserable life. Or maybe he was just absolutely bonkers and he actually was hearing a voice because he was mentally unhinged. The Dursleys were right, he was a freak.

_'Don't you ever think such a foolish thing again! You are not a freak! Besides, if you're crazy than I am too because this is not exactly a one-way-street.'_ Oh well, he supposed it didn't really matter whether or not he really was insane. No one would ever know about this particular abnormality unless he told them, and that had as great a likelihood of happening as Dudley had of losing weight. Besides, he liked his voice, she made life more entertaining and kept him company since his family hated him and he had no friends. Even if she wasn't real.

After calming _her_ down, he returned to the matter at hand. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when his self-inventory revealed no visible marks on his face, neck, and arms, though he was not really all that surprised – Uncle Vernon never left evidence in areas where it might be seen.

No visible marks meant no reasons for suspicion. Wouldn't want the neighbors to know that the respectable family at Number 4 was not all respectable after all, now would we? Of course, the neighbors didn't know what Vernon knew – that the boy was a no-good, ungrateful freak, product of worthless, no-good parents, who were probably better for society now that they were dead than they had been alive. If the neighbors only knew what he did about the boy and his unnaturalness, no one would blame him for teaching the boy a badly needed lesson every now and then. But of course, even if discovered, he could never and would never tell anyone the truth of the boy's despicable nature. Really, how could he? It would be unlikely to result, as it rightfully should have, in understanding of his actions and methods. Instead, it would more likely than not only lead to Vernon being sentenced to an extended visit to the loony-bin.

So, along with his anxieties, extreme hunger and his inability to find a position that didn't cause him any pain because of his injuries and was comfortable enough to sleep in, Harry was not very successful in his efforts to rest up for his big day, on his way to a new school tomorrow.

The Dursley's made their way out of the house and to the car, looking as comical a procession as ever, in Harry's opinion. Aunt Petunia was in the lead, scampering ahead of her whale of a son. Although she certainly resembled a horse in looks, Petunia Dursley lacked any semblance of the grace and poise of the large majestic creatures and instead often moved in a manner that suggested she was too busy, nosily watching others in hopes of catching them doing something she could later gossip about, to be entirely aware of her own actions. At the same time, she always appeared to be in a bit of a hurry to get wherever she was going, probably to both minimize her vulnerability to the prying eyes of others and maximize her chances of having information others didn't through sheer volume of eavesdropping (after all, with exposure to a superior number of potential sources, she was sure to catch more to gossip about than her "friends"). The resulting movement was, for lack of a better description, reminiscent of the scurrying of a mouse but with her neck fully extended and her head constantly whipping in one direction then another, eyes darting to and fro in survey of her surroundings, while clutching her purse tightly to her chest as though she was afraid it might be snatched from her in her own driveway.

Dudley waddled along behind his mother, sticking rather close to her. He was still jumpy after the incident on Harry's birthday and had taken to staying in close proximity of his mother ever since. That way, "Mummy can make sure nothing happens to her precious baby Duddykins," Aunt Petunia was now fond of saying, as if she could in fact protect her son from any magic directed at him.

Uncle Vernon was last out of the house, pausing to lock the front door on his way out. Although Vernon was happy to finally be rid of the foul boy, who just happened to be related to his wife, he was not thrilled by the fact that he would no longer have a punching bag on which to release his frustrations. He got in the car and turned it on but then noticed the cage that held the boy's revolting pet owl, when looking in his rearview mirror in preparation for backing out of the drive, in the backseat between the little freak and his son.

"Get that piece of filth out of my car! I told you to put your unnatural things in the boot, which includes THAT! Only a freak would have something like that thing for a pet!" Harry reluctantly opened his door and got out of the car, bringing Hedwig's cage with him, as Uncle Vernon pushed the automatic button to release the boot.

_'What? He can't do that! There's no way that cage will fit in there unless it's turned on it's side!' _Harry had already realized this fact when loading his trunk into the boot, which is why he had brought the cage with him into the car's cabin, all the while hoping that Uncle Vernon either wouldn't notice or wouldn't say anything.

"I'm sorry Hedwig, but it's the only way," Harry regretfully informed the snowy beauty. The owl cooed a small hoot of understanding before Harry closed the boot and got back into the car.

The ride to King's Cross Station was virtually silent. Harry watched as _she_ packed all her belongings and was similarly escorted to King's Cross, just as excited as he was. Was this supposed to show him what today would have been like had he not been placed with the Dursleys after the death of his parents? If so, then why not something a bit happier? Why not a life where some long lost relative or generous stranger had adopted him, a life in which he was loved and had grown up safe and happy? The life he had been watching in his head all these years, _her _life, was hardly any better than his. _She_ may not have been regularly beaten or starved by her guardians, but _she_ was still the victim of frequent beatings from the other children that lived in the orphanage and an occasional spanking from the nuns, not to mention that the food served at the orphanage was so awful that starving may have actually been a pleasant alternative had they not been forced to eat every morsel they were given. Similar to the treatment Harry had received at school thanks to Dudley, unless _she_ was being picked on or made fun of by the other children, _she_ was as good as invisible and no one took notice of her.

It seemed to Harry that _her_ life was just as lonely as his. No one deserved to be that lonely, not even himself (even if he was a freak), but especially not _her_, not Elizabeth, not his Izzy. Even if she wasn't real...

**Author's Note:** There you go... Chapter 2. I hope you enjoyed it! The next chapter will be in Elizabeth's POV.

*Please, please, please review!!! I haven't received ANY reviews on the first chapter yet.*


	3. Chapter 3: First Impressions Of A Bitch

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much for the reviews guys, it makes writing so much easier! Also, I don't have a beta so if you notice any major mistakes or blatantly obvious problems of any kind, let me know so I can hopefully fix them before they cause too much damage. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 3: First Impressions Of A Bitch**

Oh she was absolutely fuming! She couldn't believe that that brute... that ignorant, vicious, worthless nothing-of-a-man thought he had the right to do that to _him_, or to anyone for that matter! '_One day... one day I WILL make him pay for all that he's done_,' she silently vowed to herself. '_One day he WILL regret his actions over the past ten years. One day he will understand that magic IS real, that those blessed with magical ability are NOT unnatural freaks and good-for-nothings, that even the least gifted newborn witch or wizard holds more potential, in their pinky finger alone no less, than his son – the Baby Beluga – of whom he was so proud, and that, of all the boys in all the world, both Muggle and wizard, he had chosen the wrong one to mess with. No one would treat _him_ like that and get away with it, at least not if _she_ had anything to say about it. No one deserved that sort of treatment, but especially not _him_. Not Harry Potter, _THE_ Harry Potter... not her Harry._

Apparently her anger had gotten her worked up into such a state that she had been ranting and plotting revenge in her thoughts for several hours, unaware of anything outside her own head, until she noticed that Harry had begun to come back from unconsciousness by feeling his presence gradually return in her mind.

Once fully awake, he started investigating and cataloguing his latest injuries... and the bitch was back. _'I'M GOING TO KILL THAT DISGUSTING EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING THE SECOND I'M OLD ENOUGH TO CREATE THE OPPORTUNITY FOR MYSELF!'_ This time, rather than being allowed to get carried away by her temper, she soon found herself gently deflating from her rage-high, as Harry focused for several minutes on calming her down, thinking only peaceful thoughts.

After she had calmed down and Harry had finished reviewing his body for fresh injuries, she remembered that she still had yet to pack. She had been so consummed by her anger that she had completely forgotten the task she had started just before being interrupted by the evil acts transpiring at Number 4 Privet Drive. As Harry settled in to try to sleep, a goal which he never fully met, she returned to her packing since she knew that leaving it for the morning, as Harry planned to do, would only result in either being so late that she missed the train or being forced to leave for school with none of her belongings. There were no doubts about it, Elizabeth Black was definitely NOT a morning person.

Fortunately for Elizabeth, who predictably HAD procrastinated and was still not packed when Harry was up, packed, and ready to go at five, she never fully fell asleep. Though she would occasionally nod off while looking through one book or another she had stumbled upon during her "packing", she was consistently startled awake by sudden bursts of pain caused by Harry's endeavors to find a comfortable position in his unsuccessful attempts to sleep. When he had finally accepted defeat and gotten up to pace his cupboard, relishing (despite his body's unpreventable general aching) the feel of nothing other than the floor beneath his feet and the clothes on his back coming into direct contact with his body, Elizabeth had even greater difficulty with her 'successfully-putting-off-packing' naps and just gave up. Harry was simply too excited.

His optimistic daydreams of Hogwarts, prominently featuring hypothetical new friends (a luxury neither child had ever been afforded), and overall enthusiasm to escape the oppressive clutches of his so-called family, the Dursleys, were blaring in Elizabeth's head. She was sure this was unintentional on Harry's part though, since he was still convinced that _his Izzy_ was a mere figment of his imagination, created by his own subconscious out of either intense loneliness or major mental illness. Izzy knew better.

By no means had Elizabeth had a normal or pleasant childhood. That's not to say that she had been mistreated exactly, as Harry had been. Her life had just never been one that a parent would wish for their child. She had been found just inside the door to the building's entrance hall by the nuns that ran the orphanage, just after her first birthday (well, according to the note that had been found with her anyway). Her infant-self had been discovered asleep in a small wicker basinet, wrapped in a delicately quilted baby blanket. The sisters, when questioned by a curious eight-year-old Elizabeth, would only share that the note had simply revealed her name, date of birth, informed them that her mother was dead, her father unavailable to care for her, and there were no other known living relatives. It also stated that under no condition was she to be allowed into anyone's custody, no matter what official paperwork they were able to produce, until her eleventh birthday when she would be visited by a school official and invited to attend a school for the gifted, by the name of Hogwarts, as was tradition in her family.

When Elizabeth had begun doing accidental magic at a young age, any of the friendships she had managed to form since her arrival had evaporated quickly. The sisters had at first been terrified, but calmed upon recalling the letter the child had been found with. In a brilliant stroke of genius, the letter's author had assured the sisters that God had made the girl different...special, and that, while the strange things that happened around her or to her were not to be encouraged, they were simply a defense mechanism intended to ensure her safety so that she could one day fulfill God's plan for her. Not once during the letter was the word 'magic' used, as the nuns were sure to associate the term with Satan. The resulting explanation, though not entirely upfront, was infact truthful and accurate. After all, God and Fate are not seperate entities, simply two different names for the single phenomenon that controlled humans' destinies. The letter had concluded by explaining that, should mysterious events be associated with the orphan, she should be helped to calm down and the events ignored as though they had never happened.

Although she had never quite managed to regain any friendships, or forge any new ones, she had not been subjected to the attrocities that Harry had been, due to any unintentional slips in control of her magic. The other children were wary of her at first, keeping a fair distance in case she should be set off again. As some of the others came and went, she remained and the stories of what could happen if you angered Elizabeth Black became somewhat the stuff of legend. The many-times-retold tales of unexplained consequences to those on Elizabeth's bad side caused newcomers her age and younger to be wary of her and give themselves plenty of distance for safety. The trouble often started with older children new to the home who believed they had nothing to fear from a girl younger than they and especially one as small as Elizabeth Black. They unfailingly found out just how very wrong they were.

Despite disruption by an incident involving Hedwig and one very rude Muggle, after which she briefly needed help calming herself, Elizabeth managed to finish her packing, suprising even herself. Soon she was off, being escorted by one of the sisters, to King's Cross Station, where she was dropped off with an impersonal, short good-bye and left on her own. She began making her way towards platforms nine and ten, and quickly spotted an out of place family of redheads.

"Looking for Platform 9 ¾, dear? Well, you can come with us then," began the woman, who was clearly the mother of all the children surrounding her. Elizabeth nervously brushed her hair away from her face and was pleased to note that her efforts with the stolen makeup had been successful.

No one's eyes had even been drawn towards her forhead as it was uncovered by her hair. Thanks to the 'magic' of Muggle cosmetics, no one noticed Elizabeth's scar at all.

Following along after the family of redheads, Elizabeth was surprised to notice that the woman in fact had five children, all with red hair and looking remarkably related. Elizabeth fell into step with the only girl in the group of siblings.

"Hi, I'm Ginny. First year at Hogwarts, eh?" The girl, Ginny, seemed genuinely curious but Elizabeth had noticed an odd, almost wistful look in the other girl's eyes with the question.

"Why? What makes you think so?" Elizabeth couldn't help but be skeptical. The girl looked honest enough, but she didn't know the girl at all and years of experience had taught young Elizabeth Black to trust no one. She tried to overcome her ingrained paranoia by rationalizing that Ginny was likely a new student at Hogwarts this year as well. _Yes, that must be it. She's a new first year too, so she's just trying to meet her fellow classmates._ Ginny did look to be the youngest of the mass of ginger siblings and her height was comparable to Elizabeth's own.

"Oh, I didn't mean to offend you by assuming you were a first year. You just looked a bit confused before, like you weren't quite sure where you were going. Sorry..." Ginny's face had fallen when she realized her new acquaintance was somewhat unhappy with her question. Ginny's embarrassed expression, pleading forgiveness for her intrusion, was obvious enough to make Elizabeth regret her harsh tone. There was no way the other girl could have known that no one had casually started a conversation they could have avoided with Elizabeth in a very long time, possibly years.

"No, you were right, I am a new student. I'm Elizabeth, by the way. Elizabeth Black. Nice to meet you. Are you a first year too?" Upon overhearing Elizabeth's introduction, Molly Weasley gasped and turned on the small eleven year old, assessing the girl's appearance wide-eyed. Though Mrs. Weasley's reaction was noticed by the ever-weary Elizabeth, Ginny paid no attention at all to her mother.

"No, I'm only ten. I have to wait another full year to start. You're muggleborn then?" Ginny looked remarkably upset at this prospect.

"Muggle-raised, yes. Muggleborn, no. An extra year's not so bad though. Just think of what you could do with all that extra time though," Elizabeth tried to cheer the younger girl up, now trying to ignore the mother's uninhibited scrutiny. "You could read ahead for all the first year classes to give you an easier time next year. You could practice making all the potions or doing any of the spells in the books that are allowed outside of school. You could plan out and prepare for all sorts of pranks you could pull next year with all your free time from having read ahead. There's all sorts of possibilities..."

Elizabeth broke off her suggestions for Ginny's free time when her eyes magnetically met the bright green eyes she had waited years to see, just outside the glass doors of the station. Her gaze was trapped in his as he entered, following behind his uncle. Without warning or explanation to the Weasleys, she walked towards him, beginning slowly and gradually speeding up in her hurry to reach him, leaving her trolley and belongings behind. Their gazes never faltered and, upon reaching him, she became aware of Vernon Dursley's harsh words and mockery of his nephew's predicament with no 9 ¾ in sight. Her familiar anger at the Muggle oaf flared.

"You're pathetic, you know that?" She finally broke her gaze away and set her sights on Dursley.

"I think you're just jealous. You lead a life of mediocrity and you hate it. You hate your average job, at which you're never promoted due to your less-than-stellar performance. Your house is not embarrassing but is anything but impressive. You're not proud to claim the nosy horse-faced woman as your wife. The only thing in your life you even consider a marginal success is you son, the Baby Beluga. Which, frankly, makes you even more pathetic since he's disgustingly obese, spoiled as month-old milk, dumb as a box of rocks, and not exceptional or even above average at anything. So instead of working harder at your job, raising your son to be a useful member of society, and taking actual steps to improve yourself and your life, you belittle and take out your frustrations on your nephew because you're jealous that he's special and has more potential in his future than your entire family combined. I'll say it again... You. Are. Pathetic."

Vernon Dursley had listened to the little girl's tirade in disbelief, his face gradually progressing from its normal shade of pink, through red and finally into purple by the end of Elizabeth's speech. He had dropped the belongings Harry had been unable to carry halfway when his face had achieved purple and had begun to shake in anger before she had finished. He raised his arm, prepared to slap the girl or worse.

"WHY YOU LITTLE...YOU LITTLE BITCH! FREAK" Vernon found himself unable to move his arm.

"Leave. Now." Harry spoke very calmly but held a fury in his eyes that his uncle had never seen before. Dursley knew at that point that it was wife's nephew, the little freak, that was preventing him from delivering the blow the girl obviously deserved.

"Don't come back. Ever. Not Christmas, not summer. Not at all. Ever. You're no longer welcome in my home." The mass of heaving purple flab hissed just before turning and making his way back to the exit, pausing and turning back briefly when his nephew spoke in that eerily calm and chilly voice once again.

"I never was, so what's changed? Even if I was, I have no desire to return so don't worry." Vernon began his retreat once again, thinking Harry had been finished, but his next sentence scared Vernon more than anything ever had before.

"If you _ever_ insult or raise a hand to her again, for any reason, you will regret ever having been born. And believe me, I've lived with you for ten years, I know you, probably better than you think, I know how to ruin you. And that's exactly what I'll do if you ever threaten her in any manner again... I'll ruin you." Dursley shivered at the tone in the boy's voice and fled, terrified by the likely truth of the warning.

Harry never even bothered to turn around, he continued to stare at the girl he had thought was a figment of his imagination. As soon as Dursley was out of sight, Elizabeth threw herself into Harry's arms, both holding on tight as if their lives depended on it.

"It's really you..." Harry whispered in her ear without letting her go.

"Yep, it's really me. You're not crazy after all, huh?"

**Author's Note:** Alright, you know what to do. Read and review!

(Haha, that rhymed!)


	4. Chapter 4: Mysterious Encounter

**Chapter 4: Mysterious Encounter – Not Just As Simple As Black and Red**

Ginny did not have many friends. Actually, she hardly knew anyone she wasn't related to. Luna, a dreamy girl that lived down the lane, was really her only friend. Since her family didn't live close to any wizarding communities, she had never had the opportunity to meet any other girls close to her own age. This girl at the train station confused the youngest Weasley. Elizabeth seemed both thankful for Ginny's attention and wary of it at the same time. Then of course that was before the arrival of the boy that added an entirely new and decidedly bizarre air of mystery to the already mysterious Elizabeth.

Many wizarding families sent their children to either magical private primary schools, which only admitted students from magical families or verified muggleborn witches and wizards, or a local Muggle school near their home. Unfortunately, the Weasleys could not afford to send any of their children to a private school, where accidental magic was perfectly normal and could be easily contained and corrected by the trained staff.

Some of Ginny's brothers had been allowed to attend the local public school in Ottery St. Catchpole. Her parents' rule for determining when one of their children was stable enough to attend the school, which was almost strictly Muggle, was that the child had to last one full _normal_ year without displaying any accidental magic. Six months is traditionally the length of time most families hold to standard, but since any magic performed accidentally at a Muggle school requires Ministry involvement and obliviation of any Muggle witnesses, the parents of the child involved are held responsible and assigned a monetary fine as the customary penalty for most incidents, a fine which the Weasley family could not afford.

To Arthur and Molly Weasley, the key word in the rule was 'normal'. This meant that should one of their children choose to spend a period greater than two weeks away from the rest of the family, such as an extended visit to Aunt Muriel or an absence of that nature, said time period was not included in their 'year' and actually ended any previously accumulated duration of being magic-free, resetting the child's count. This stipulation was intended to ensure maximum provocation. The Weasleys knew that nothing could incite their children to the point of accidental magic as well as their siblings. Ginny was easily provoked.

It wasn't until the girl, who had just introduced herself as Elizabeth, had strangely wandered off to the small raven-haired boy and his accompanying blob of flesh in an enormous blazer that Ginny noticed her mother. The sudden glazed look Elizabeth had taken on when she had locked eyes with the boy had been instantly apparent. When she began gravitating towards him like metal being drawn to a magnet, Ginny had questioningly turned to her mother only to find the woman gaping after Elizabeth, a look of wonder, disbelief, and curiosity on her face.

The Weasleys couldn't hear the conversation across the platform but its approaching outcome was quite clear when the round man raised his hand to Elizabeth. Upon seeing the action, Mrs. Weasley and the elder Weasley boys who had noticed all quickly jumped to action, hurrying across the station towards the three. It was apparent to the small group, that one of the two children was performing an act of accidental magic preventing the man from striking Elizabeth.

Though the initial conversation and the catalyst of the man's intended violence eluded the family of redheads, the Weasleys had approached close enough to the conflict to hear the boy's threat to his retreating companion. The threat itself and the manner in which the boy made it - ice in his tone, eyes locked on Elizabeth, without even bothering to turn and face his subject – held enough venom to convince each and every witness to the scene that the undersized child was entirely serious. His delivery was powerful enough to chill even passersby, otherwise oblivious to the situation.

And suddenly all the tension evaporated. The obese man was gone and the pair of black-haired children embraced inside the circle of redheads, glued together for the moment.

Barely audible to Ginny, who was standing a touch closer to the two than the rest of her family, amidst the hustle of the crowded train station, the boy whispered to Elizabeth in disbelief, "It's really you..."

Elizabeth countered, "Yep, it's really me. You're not crazy after all, huh?"

Mrs. Weasley, who was still eyeing the Black girl with a measure of caution and suspicion, chose this moment to clear her throat and remind the two of their audience.


	5. Chapter 5: You're Who?

**Author's Note:** This fic is not intended to strictly adhere to canon. Though many (or most) of its characters and recognizable elements of the plot are of course property of JKR, this story is AU. I don't own anything except my original character(s) and plot that deviates from Harry Potter canon universe.

**Chapter 5: You're Who?**

_Barely audible to Ginny, who was standing a touch closer to the two than the rest of her family, and amidst the hustle of the crowded train station, the boy whispered to Elizabeth in disbelief, "It's really you..."_

_"Yep, it's really me... You're not crazy after all, huh?" Elizabeth countered._

_Mrs. Weasley, who was still eyeing the Black girl with a measure of caution and suspicion, chose this moment to clear her throat and remind the two of their audience._

The boy and girl were both startled out of their almost trance-like state by Mrs. Weasley's louder-than-really-necessary reminder of the family's presence. Realizing their rudeness, both children approached the Weasley family matriarch timidly. Their hands were entwined, as though their very lives depended on maintaining this small contact – at the _very_ least.

"Mrs. - … oh I'm so sorry, the only name I caught was Ginny's. I really am very sorry," Elizabeth apologized. "How incredibly rude of me…" the girl practically whispered to herself. She was clearly distraught over her own apparent lack of manners. The fact that no one other than Ginny had _bothered_ to introduce themselves to her before the boy's appearance totally escaped her.

"Weasley, dear. I'm Mrs. Weasley," the woman supplied. Elizabeth nodded, to show that she would remember this.

"Mrs. Weasley, this is Harry. Harry, Mrs. Weasley."

Harry, feeling and acting bolder than he had in what was probably years (probably thanks to finally having just stood up to Vernon Dursley, in addition to the joy and comfort of his Izzy at his side), completed the introduction himself – so as to alleviate Elizabeth of any possible discomfort he could…

Stepping forward, right hand outstretched in offer of a customary introductory handshake (left hand still glued to Elizabeth's in nearly a death-grip), Harry added, "Potter. Harry _Potter_, ma'am. Nice to meet you."

The inclusion of last name in his introduction and the dawning of comprehension in all of the redheaded bunch, as they realized just who it was they were standing with and speaking to, caused different reactions from one Weasley to the next – with the exception of the pair who were obviously identical twins and likewise shared identical expressions making it clear they found his identity impressive, while still laced with hints of mischief (possibly as they began to mentally plan how they could use this knowledge or even the Boy-Who-Lived himself in their ever-consistent creation of mayhem…). The boy who appeared to be the eldest of the group looked almost proud, as though he expected to receive credit for having made arrangement himself to introduce his entire family to THE Harry Potter. The youngest-looking _boy_ wore a mask of disbelief, appearing so incredibly awe-struck as to not have noticed that his jaw had dropped open in an unflattering manner and having totally forgotten to blink in the forty-five second span that had elapsed since Harry's introduction. Ginny took on a look of wonder, tinged with a slightly whimsical element.

It was Mrs. Weasley, though, whose reaction was the most pronounced and not really understood by any of the children, Weasley or otherwise. Her immediate response was predictable – a look of surprise, followed by shock. She then moved right on, her face taking on a mask of concern. It was this last reaction, as she constantly looked back and forth between Harry and Elizabeth, and then occasionally down to their intertwined hands, that confused the rest of the group.

Finally, while regarding the undersized boy before her, she asked, "Harry Potter…?" And then, turning to face the even smaller girl next to him, "…And Elizabeth Black?" Eventually, her gaze again returned to their locked grip on one another's hands and she finished, "…And you two know each other?"

Mrs. Weasley's questions were spoken almost in the tone of a whisper, so no one was quite sure whether she expected the children to answer or if the speech was purely intended for her own use reiterating the information they had all just been given, in the effort of solving some mystery unknown to the rest. Either way, Harry and Elizabeth didn't really have a good answer to the third question so they both remained quiet, hoping they would not be required to make something up on the spot.

After nearly a minute and a half of this behaviour, Mrs. Weasley seemed to snap out of her nearly-trance-like state and remember where they were and why they were here.

"Alright, to the platform then everyone." As they returned to their trolleys and resumed their course towards Platform 9 ¾, Mrs. Weasley called out instructions to all the children. "Percy and Ron, you first. Then Fred and George. Ginny would you please take Elizabeth? And Harry, dear, you'll come with me. Just walk straight through, leaning forward a smidge. Might want to take it at a bit of a run if you're nervous though."

The pairs began passing through the solid wall, much to the amazement of both Harry and Elizabeth, until finally the two were forced to abandon each other's hands so that Elizabeth and Ginny could take their turn. After sharing one final, apprehensive look with Harry, to which he returned an expression of comfort and encouragement, Elizabeth kept pace with Ginny as they ran towards the wall concealing the platform. She closed her eyes just before reaching the barrier and felt nothing when she naturally expected to have slammed into solid brick (somewhat irrationally, since she had just watched the four boys easily pass through before them with no apparent trouble at all).

She opened her eyes upon what was almost certainly the most thrilling sight she had encountered as of yet in her short life…

**Author's Note:** Sorry it's been so long since I've updated, life got a bit crazy there for a while. You know how it is.

Anyway, as always…please read and review! Let me know if you find any errors, have any questions, comments, or requests, or otherwise just want to make my day by responding! Reviews really do help motivate me to write. So if you are upset with how long this story sat between new chapters and would like me to get the next chapter written and posted more quickly, then review!


	6. Chapter 6: All Aboard!

**Author's Note:** This fic is not intended to strictly adhere to canon. Though many (or most) of its characters and recognizable elements of the plot and/or text are of course property of JKR, this story is written as AU. I don't own anything except my original character(s) and plot that deviates from the Harry Potter canon universe.

**Chapter 6: All Aboard!**

_After sharing one final, apprehensive look with Harry, to which he returned an expression of comfort and encouragement, Elizabeth kept pace with Ginny as they ran towards the wall concealing the platform._

As soon as the two girls had begun their approach of the concealed barrier between the ordinary Muggle depot and Platform 9 ¾, Mrs. Weasley placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, causing the undersized 11 year-old to inhale sharply and flinch away from her grasp. Harry could tell by the shocked expression she now wore that his response to the physical contact had been far from anything Mrs. Weasley had anticipated. This look of shock was quickly followed by one of great concern, which made Harry suspect the matronly woman's touch had only been intended as a gesture of reassurance – how could she have known that such a simple action would cause him to feel such immediate apprehension and a world of not-so-minor pain thanks to the lasting nature of last night's "family bonding".

"Harry, dear, is everything alright?" Embarrassment over his dramatic reaction caused Harry to longingly glance towards where he knew Izzy to be, on the other side of the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. In response to her question, Harry only nodded his head without breaking his stare at the barrier. Mrs. Weasley followed his gaze briefly before returning her attention to the boy standing next to her, regarding him with a sense curiosity.

After several long seconds of Harry staring intently towards escape, Mrs. Weasley still hadn't said anything further, nor had she indicated that they should begin moving towards the barrier. Resolved to put an end to this awkward situation as quickly as possible and make it to wherever Izzy was waiting for him on the magical hidden platform, Harry reluctantly turned to provide a more sufficient answer to her earlier question.

While still diligently avoiding any and all direct eye-contact, Harry meekly offered a half-truth, "Sorry, you just surprised me Mrs. Weasley," in explanation of his behaviour. Not entirely convinced by his excuse, Mrs. Weasley continued to study him for several more seconds – not only in continued curiosity, but now with an apparent hint of suspicion – before returning her attention to the task ahead of them.

"Alright, well let's get a move-on then. It would be a shame for the train to you leave without you." Harry experienced a moment of terror at this, frantically turning his head every which way in the effort to locate a clock. _Am I really in danger of missing the train? What will I do if it's already gone by the time I get to the Platform?_

Noticing the sudden panic overtake the boy's features, Mrs. Weasley laughed as she assured him, "Don't worry, dear, it's fine. You've still got a couple minutes before that becomes a worry. Let's get going though, shall we?" And with that, she began to lead Harry and his cart straight for the solid wall in front of them.

Once Mrs. Weasley's gentle-but-firm pull on his cart ended, Harry tentatively decided to peek out of one eye, having squeezed both shut as they had gotten quite close to the barrier. Upon seeing the coast was all clear of nearby brick walls, Harry quickly opened both eyes widely in wonder. Almost like second-nature, Izzy's only-slightly smaller hand took hold of his own and alleviated the anxiety he had experienced as a result of their brief separation. Harry now took the opportunity to observe his surroundings on Platform 9 ¾ with wonder and excitement.

The commotion on the Platform was as one might expect as students boarded the shining red Hogwarts Express – trunks and other belongings being loaded here and there onto cars, friends reuniting and catching up with one another, parents bidding their children farewell with reminders to write often – completely normal goings-on.

And yet _nothing_ about what he was witnessing would be considered _normal_ by the standards of the average Jane or Joe. The seemingly predictable scene in front of him was made far less-so by the element of magic that surprisingly appeared to be woven into everything, including the very platform itself. While some items being loaded onto the train were everyday trunks, pet carriers and the like, others were altogether unidentifiable to Harry; and yet still others were floating up into cars apparently of their own accord. All across the platform, sporadic use of magic caught Harry's eye. It was _everywhere_.

_Wow! Incredible, isn't it? Look at that crazy-dressed man! Oh, look at _that _one over there! Is it just me, or is that cat purple?_ Izzy's thoughts appeared to somewhat mirror his own.

_It's real. It's _all _real. I… I didn't… I mean, I hoped but…_ He was nothing less than speechless.

He hadn't believed any of it was real. Right up until that very moment, he had half-expected it was all a new very elaborate joke the Dursleys had dreamt up. A cruel new way to hurt him – convince him that he might finally be free of the miserable existence he had with them to raise his hopes, only in order to then be able to crush those hopes and laugh in amusement at his expense. Even after his trip to Diagon Alley it hadn't felt real – after all, he'd still had to return to the Dursleys' afterward. But there he was, standing next to _his_ Izzy – the _real-live _girl who belonged to the voice in his head – on Platform 9 ¾ and about to board the Hogwarts Express – the _actual_ train that would _really_ be taking him to a school where he would now study magic.

The dawning understanding – that the magical world he had been reluctantly daydreaming about since his birthday – was real suddenly overwhelmed him. He began to sway slightly on his feet as he grew increasingly light-headed.

_Whoa! Let's _at least_ get you on the train before you decide to pass out_. Izzy began to lead him to the closest car that didn't look to already be packed full.

Ginny and Mrs. Weasley both watched the two small, black-haired children wander away from where the red-headed family still gathered together. Ginny observed the departure with curiosity and fascination. _So that's Harry Potter, huh?_ Her mother looked on with confusion and suspicion. _Is that little girl the Elizabeth Black that I think she is? Well, of course she is – looks just like _him_! How in the world does the daughter of Sirius Black know Harry Potter? There is something very 'off' about the way those two behave together..._ Eventually, she decided to let it go for the moment as she turned back to give farewell hugs and last-minute advice to her boys.

Still holding Harry's hand, Izzy maneuvered her arm underneath his and bent them both at the elbow so that she could help support him as she guided him away from his trolley and then stuck him up against the side of car she had chosen, a foot or so from the door.

With only the small amount of help he was able to offer in his current condition, Izzy somehow managed to raise one end of her trunk up onto the steps of the car and then shove it all the way up from behind. She repeated this method to load his trunk up onto the train as well, while he stood leaning against the sturdy train car hoping not to fall over. Once all of their belongings were inside, Izzy reclaimed his hand and arm and helped him up the steps as well. They quickly made their way to the nearest unoccupied compartment, where she sat Harry down next to the window on one of the benches while she returned for their things.

With all of their belongings properly stowed, Izzy settled down next to Harry and immediately reached for his hand once more. The worry she had initially felt when he had first started to become dizzy only increased when she looked over at him, slouched into the softly cushioned bench and resting his forehead against the cool glass of the window.

She thought he might not be merely overwhelmed by his new grasp on reality – which now necessarily included the existence of magic and his own ability to use it – but was perhaps more severely injured by the "parting gifts" he had received last night at the hands of Vernon Dursley than either of them had previously suspected.

As the train gave a sudden initial jerk before it slowly began moving forward, Izzy was momentarily shaken from her thoughts long enough to notice the red-headed girl – Ginny she had said her name was – remained unhappily on the platform with her mother, waving goodbye to the train. Izzy quickly returned to being lost in her worry and Harry was practically incapacitated, so neither noticed when the compartment door slid open and the youngest Weasley boy entered.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, startling them both. Izzy looked up to see that he was indicating the empty seat opposite them. "Everywhere else is full," he continued sheepishly. She only nodded in response and the boy sat down. Occasionally, he would glance over at them and then look quickly out the window, pretending he hadn't looked.

The boy's twin brothers made a brief appearance at the door to their compartment, at which point Izzy learned his name was Ron (while the twins had introduced themselves as Fred and George before bustling away just as quickly as they had arrived). The commotion briefly woke Harry, just long enough to reposition himself so that his head rested on Elizabeth's shoulder, which he seemed to feel was much more comfortable than the hard glass.

"Is he okay?" Ron asked from across the compartment. She didn't know what to say to him. She _didn't_ think Harry was okay, but she also didn't know that that was something she wanted to share with a complete stranger.

"I suppose he will be…" She settled on the most ambiguous answer she could come up with that wasn't an outright lie.

The long train ride passed in predictable fashion. The lady had come by with the snack cart but none of them had purchased anything. They had eventually been joined for a while by a round-faced boy who had misplaced his toad and a bushy-haired brunette girl with rather large front teeth, who had given their names as Neville and Hermione. At their request, Ron attempted to cast a "spell" on his lazy-looking rat. The spell turned out to have likely been a joke played on him by the twins.

Nearing the end of the journey, their compartment door slid open once more to reveal a pale boy with hair so blond it was nearly white and two beefy, dim-looking boys who stood on either side of him as though they were his bodyguards. After exchanging jabs with Ron, attempting to engage her as well (to which she never responded), and curiously trying to get a better look at Harry (whose head still rested on Izzy's shoulder), they were driven off by a well-timed attack from Ron's rat, Scabbers. The noise of the confrontation attracted the return of Hermione.

Only seconds after Hermione's return, Harry groaned (clearly in pain) as he shifted his head down to Izzy's lap. She scooted them both over to allow Harry room to stretch out a bit on the bench.

"Is he okay?" Hermione asked Ron in an exaggerated whisper but still obviously loud enough for Izzy to hear.

"I asked that earlier but I don't think she really knows for sure," Ron replied, not bothering to even pretend to whisper.

Izzy was too worried to really pay them much attention, because Ron was right – she _didn't_ know if Harry was alright. _I mean, he obviously isn't alright. But _how _not alright is he?_ She ran her fingers through his messy black hair, hoping to give him even the smallest measure of comfort.

And then, thankfully, the Hogwarts Express began to slow until it reached a final stop. Harry was now walking a bit steadier than he had back at King's Cross (thanks to his nap), though he still needed to be partially supported by Izzy. Two of the last to fall into the line of first years following behind the giant man that Harry had mentally identified as Hagrid for her, Izzy barely managed to get Harry safely into a boat. They shared the little rowboat – being propelled by magic – with two girls who kept looking at Harry and Izzy's clasped hands and giggling, the occasional whisper passing between the two with attempts to hide it behind a hand of one or both.

_Man, do I hate giggly girls… They're so freaking annoying!_ She wasn't absolutely positive whether this thought belonged to her or Harry, but either way she was in total agreement.


	7. Chapter 7: Black, You Say?

**Author's Note:** This fic is not intended to strictly adhere to canon. Though many (or most) of its characters and recognizable elements of the plot and/or text are of course property of JKR, this story is written as AU. I don't own anything except my original character(s) and plot that deviates from the Harry Potter canon universe.

Please note, I am neither British nor am I American; I am Canadian. So** not** **all** spelling and/or grammar discrepancies are errors, some are just differences between Canadian English and US or British English. Also, this chapter is fairly Hagrid-heavy. His speech (or in fact any character's speech) is just me pretending I know how the British accent translates into text. So to all you Brits reading my story – sorry if what I've written doesn't really jive with the way you actually talk, I mean no offense.

**Chapter 7: Black, You Say?**

The little boat's journey across the hauntingly-dark depths of the vast expanse of glassy-smooth water seemed to stretch on forever with the giggly twins sitting across from them. _Fine, they aren't twins. But they may as well be with how stupid they both sound (not to mention look!) with all their giggling!_

Izzy was only barely able to stop herself from pointing this out to them aloud. For her self-control she was rewarded with the _most_ spectacular sight she had ever set eyes upon, as they came into view of the majestic, towering Hogwarts castle. And Harry was missing it all.

Finally they reached shore again, seemingly _underneath_ the great castle. As everyone clambered out of their boats and headed over to a door set in the rock-face wall nearby, while Hagrid checked all the boats. Getting Harry out of the boat proved more difficult than getting him in had been, so Izzy was still struggling as Hagrid approached their boat near the back of the fleet.

"Pro'lem there, kids?" Hagrid asked, as he got closer to the boat from which Izzy was struggling to remove Harry. The frigid journey across the lake had completely reversed the improvement Harry had made with the nap on the train. He now seemed in worse shape than ever.

"'Arry? Is 'atchoo, 'arry? Blimey, you look 'orrible!" Hagrid hastened his approach once he further took in just _how_ bad Harry Potter really did look.

"Wha'appened to 'im?" Hagrid addressed Izzy now.

"He's not feeling well," she responded, pausing in her struggle. Still uncomfortable trusting information concerning Harry's well-being to someone other than herself, but now reaching a point of near-hysteria as he continued to get weaker in her arms, Izzy reluctantly turned to the giant man who had now become her only option. Harry moaned incoherently, as though agreeing that she needed help.

"Harry said your name was Hagrid, right?" she confirmed with the huge man, since any information from Harry could be considered suspect as a possible hallucination at this point.

"'At's right, lass. Good ter see 'arry makin' friends a'ready. Jus' like 'is father, this one. A'ways 'ad a knack witha ladies. An' who migh' you be, lass?" He seemed nice enough, she supposed. Although, it wasn't exactly as if she had many other options…

Alone with Hagrid, Harry and Izzy were now the only students left on the rock- and pebble-strewn bank underneath the castle, since all their classmates had disappeared through the door. After another, even-weaker sounding groan of pain from Harry, Izzy's overwhelming fear regarding his rapidly deteriorating condition forced her hand.

"Elizabeth. Please, could you help me, sir?" she began timidly, before pretty much losing whatever control she might have hoped for, "I can't seem to lift him out on my own and he's useless right now and I don't know exactly what's wrong with him but I think I _might_ and I know it's not good and I don't know what to do or where to go or how to make him better but he keeps getting worse and I think it's really bad and can you _PLEASE_ help me just get him out of the boat?" she found her pleas for help turn into a panicked begging toward the end.

Hagrid stared at her, wide-eyed, for several seconds as though trying to absorb everything she'd just said. He only responded, "Giv'em 'ere then, lass," as he moved over to the children and bent down to take over possession of Harry's limp body. Once she had been relieved of the dead-weight, Hagrid made to turn towards the torch-light spilling from the doorway where her classmates had disappeared up a staircase.

"Come along then," he urged once he realized the resistance Harry's body was showing against movement was actually due to Elizabeth's own lack of movement, by way of the death-grip she maintained on Harry's hand. This reminder spurred her into action, as she practically jogged to keep up with the man at least five times her size, who now carried Harry.

"'Lizabeth, you said it was? 'Lizabeth what?" he asked as he looked down at the tiny girl managing to match what he knew to be his own quicker-than-average pace. She still refused to let go of her grasp on Harry's left hand, which was now raised above his head and sticking out to the left of Hagrid – over the giant arm that was currently supporting the weight of Harry's top half. She too had her arm raised high above her head in order for her hand to be able to reach Harry's, making their little procession quite an awkward-looking one, as they reached the end of the last flight of stairs.

The door at the top of the last step opened into an entrance hall so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it and so grand in scale that a small gasp of wonder escaped Elizabeth upon its sight. The stone walls were lit with more flaming torches, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

Upon coming to her senses as Hagrid set out to cross the hall, pulling her along with him, she remembered that he had just asked her a question.

"Black," she supplied, "My name is Elizabeth Black."

She was quite startled by his overly-loud gasp and then suddenly being jerked backwards by the arm connected to Harry as Hagrid immediately halted their journey across the Entrance Hall. She hadn't been expecting such a reaction to something as simple as her name but was instantly reminded of Mrs. Weasley's similar reaction. Hagrid simply stared at her for several seconds, wide-eyed and open-jawed, before shifting his gaze back and forth between she and Harry a handful of times.

During this confusing little interlude, Izzy could vaguely hear oral instructions being given by a witch with little warmth to her tone, off ahead in the distance. "The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw…"

Finally, Hagrid shook his head as though coming out of a trance and offered his only comment, "Blimey!" before continuing on with their trek across the flagged stone floor. As they reached the opposite side of the Entrance Hall and rounded a corner into a smaller chamber, they were met by the rest of her classmates all congregated in front of a tall, black-haired witch in green robes, whose stern face and no-nonsense air immediately prompted Izzy to hope that she never found herself on a list of those who had crossed the intimidating woman.

The drone of hundreds of voices muffled by the towering set of wooden doors behind the group caused Hagrid to raise his voice as he called, "Professor McGonagall! 'N I speak ter ya for a momen'?" He shuffled backwards briefly, making sure that he had indeed caught the Professor's attention and that she was following as desired, before outright turning and retreating back into the entrance hall.

Once reaching what he had judged to be a safe distance from the curious ears of the students, he once again turned around to face the approaching Professor.

"What is it, Hagrid?" asked the strict-looking witch – whom Izzy now knew to be Professor McGonagall – as her sharp gaze attempted to assess the concerning situation before her.

"'S 'arry, Professor. 'Arry Potter, ma'am. Think he's quite ill. Jus' wan'ed to let ya know, 'fore I take 'im up ter Madame Pomfrey ina 'ospital wing." Her expression only deepened to a look of even greater concern upon hearing Hagrid identify the prostrate body in his arms as being that of Harry Potter.

"Have you any clue as to what's wrong with him?" she questioned Hagrid. When the only response she received from the groundskeeper – an uncertain shrug of the shoulders – clearly left her unsatisfied, she turned her attention to the remarkably small black-haired girl (made to look even small by her proximity to Hagrid) with fear-filled eyes, who stood nearly on tiptoe awkwardly clutching Harry's hand. Elizabeth made every effort to avoid eye-contact with the daunting witch now staring straight at her.

Professor McGonagall broke the standoff by directly addressing the hesitant little girl. "And you? Miss…" The older woman – who had now raised her eyebrows in an inquisitive manner – continued to stare at Elizabeth and was clearly waiting for her to fill in the blank with her name.

"Elizabeth Black, ma'am," she replied, while reluctantly lifting her gaze to meet the imposing witch's stare. Right on cue, Professor McGonagall released a surprised gasp in the same manner as had Hagrid and Mrs. Weasley before her. Thankfully (at least as far as a confused Elizabeth was concerned), the Professor recovered from her shock almost instantaneously and returned to her intended line of questioning.

"Well, Miss Black, have you any idea what might be causing Mr. Potter's apparent illness?" Elizabeth only shook her head, once again avoiding any and all eye-contact. "No clue at all, Miss Black?" Professor McGonagall asked once more, doubting Elizabeth's complete cluelessness.

After half a minute of further wordless evaluation at the hands of the Deputy Headmistress, Elizabeth was dismissed, "Fine, that will be all Miss Black. You may go join the rest of your classmates in the waiting chamber behind us."

Elizabeth stood unmoved. Professor McGonagall quickly grew impatient with the girl's neglect to follow her instructions. "I said, you are dismissed, Miss Black. Please go _now_."

_I won't leave you, Harry. She can't make me! I don't care what she does, I won't leave you alone with them. Don't worry, Harry, I'm not going anywhere._

"Miss Black, you have yet to even be sorted _into_ a house. Must I already remove points from the house into which you _do_ find yourself sorted?" McGonagall threatened.

"That would be up to you ma'am. I hope you don't do but either way, I'm not leaving Harry. I'm just not," she answered in a tone she hoped would be received as holding the utmost respect, while still conveying that she was – and would remain – adamant about not leaving Harry's side.

After a brief huff of disbelief and annoyance at Elizabeth's insubordination, Professor McGonagall took a while longer to appraise the girl's sincerity in willingly accepting punishment to accompany the Potter boy to the infirmary. Thanks to the fierce look in the eyes of the undersized first year – a look only intensified by the weak moan of pain emitted by an unconscious Harry Potter, still laying limply in Hagrid's arms – Professor McGonagall was entirely convinced as to the seriousness with which the little girl (who now directly and defiantly met her examining gaze) would fight any attempts to separate her from an indisposed Harry.

It was not only the fire evident in Elizabeth's eyes alone that persuaded Professor McGonagall not to forcibly remove the eleven year old and follow through with her threat of deducting house points. Standing there – in the middle of Hogwarts' entrance hall, in great need of returning to the dozens of first years awaiting her further instructions, and now severely behind schedule in the annual Sorting Ceremony – the veteran professor was starkly aware of the power emanating from little Elizabeth Black at this very moment. The shear quantity and strength of the magical power the girl was currently giving off was of shocking proportions. In fact, Minerva McGonagall would venture to guess that she had witnessed individual power on a scale such as this only a handful of times throughout her already rather long life. And – with the exception of one instance, a decade ago now, in which she had witnessed He Who Must Not Be Named kill an acquaintance of hers – the only other witch or wizard she had ever known to possess such immense power was sitting on the other side of the great wooden doors behind her, up at the Head Table, in the seat reserved solely for the Headmaster himself.

She, of course, was thinking of Albus Dumbledore but even his power might be found to have been surpassed by what she was observing now. Never in her life had she seen such magical power simply radiate off a witch or wizard in such a manner. _Certainly_ never from an eleven year old girl (or boy, for that matter) – and a small one at that!

With only a further sigh of surrender, Professor McGonagall conceded, "I see. Well, he doesn't appear to be improving any so hurry along then."

Professor McGonagall turned to rejoin the crowd of first years waiting restlessly in the side-chamber that connected the Entrance Hall to the Great Hall. Without looking back, she called, "Oh and Miss Black? Do be sure to visit me in my office upon your earliest convenience."

**Author's Note:** If you've enjoyed reading (or even if you haven't and would just like to share constructive criticism), please review!


	8. Chapter 8: A Trip To The Nurse

**Author's Note:** This fic is not intended to strictly adhere to canon. Though many (or most) of its characters and recognizable elements of the plot and/or text are of course property of JKR, this story is written as AU. I don't own anything except my original character(s) and plot that deviates from the Harry Potter canon universe.

P.S. For future reference, anytime I begin a chapter with italicized text that is followed by a line of dashes the italicized text is just a reminder/recap of the end of a previous chapter. This should be fairly easy to recognize if you're reading all the chapters at once but, if not, then I hope this clarifies. Enjoy!

**Chapter 8: A Trip To The Nurse**

"_Oh and Miss Black? Do be sure to visit me in my office upon your earliest convenience."_

Izzy stared after the stern professor in disbelief. _That's it?_

With another moan from Harry, both Izzy and Hagrid seemed to remember their important task and immediately set off towards the grand staircase she had noted earlier in the Entrance Hall.

Once the odd band began to ascend the flights upon flights of stairs up to the Hospital Wing, Izzy quickly lost all bearing and sense of direction. Some staircases turned out to lead nowhere, some shifted their destination _as_ the group climbed them, and every now and then Hagrid made her skip over 'trick' steps which he warned she was to avoid at risk of getting stuck in one – needless to say, she had no idea where they were going and soon she couldn't even tell you where they'd been.

Finally, after numerous dead-ends and a few double-backs, Hagrid announced, "'ere we are then!" They made their way down an empty corridor, which became far better lit the closer they came to a set of double-doors labeled 'Hospital Wing' in large black letters.

Hagrid wasted no time kicking the doors open in front of them and hustling them into the stark white ward. They were immediately met by the shrill voice of someone they could not see.

"What on earth! I'll not have my infirmary vandalized because a student is simply to lazy to properly open…" the nurse paused as she came into view, "a door."

"Sorry, Poppy. Had me hands full," Hagrid apologized but the nurse paid him no mind as her full attention had already honed in on the unconscious boy he carried.

"Quickly, Hagrid. Lay him down here," she commanded as she pulled back the crisp, white sheets and adjusted the pillow on the bed she indicated.

Hagrid lay Harry's fragile-looking body down on the bed and in the blink of an eye Harry's robes (and the Muggle clothing he wore underneath) were replaced by a hospital gown that appeared several sizes too large.

"Goodness, he's far smaller than a boy his age should be," the nurse commented as she pulled the sheets up to cover Harry and then removed his glasses.

Elizabeth was both anxious and yet enthralled as she watched the nurse cast unknown spells at Harry, her grip on his left hand now tighter than ever in both of her own. Each spell produced some visual display that the nurse seemed to analyze, though Elizabeth was utterly clueless as to the meaning or significance of them all.

"You may come back to see him during visiting hours tomorrow," the nurse instructed Izzy. She was being dismissed, _again_.

When Izzy gave no indication of having heard or understood and made no move to leave, the nurse impatiently cleared her throat. Izzy's only response was to direct a stubborn glare at Hagrid, as though telling him to speak up.

Standing behind the mediwitch, he did just that. "Erm, Madam Pomfrey? Professor McGonagall's given tha lass permission ter stay with'im," he sheepishly informed. A huff of resignation was the only response from the slightly irritated nurse.

Madam Pomfrey resumed casting various spells at Harry's unaware body. Her expression evolved as the results of the spells continuously furthered her diagnosis. What began as a look of mild confusion quickly progressed to one of concern, which deepened to even greater concern, then advanced into anger, and finally settled on a look Elizabeth might have easily described as one horror.

"Hagrid, please go get the Headmaster. Immediately." In combination with the woman's mask of horror, the urgency in Madam Pomfrey's words terrified an already distraught Elizabeth.

As Hagrid left to fulfill her request, Madam Pomfrey briefly visited a room at the far end of the ward before returning with several small bottles (which Izzy could only assume held potions). After lifting Harry's torso into a nearly vertical position and tipping his head back, the mediwitch proceeded to empty the contents of each bottle into Harry's open mouth. She then returned, once again, to her casting spells over her patient, though this time there were no visible effects produced.

In what seemed like no time at all (certainly a fraction of the time _her_ journey to the Hospital Wing had taken), Hagrid re-entered the ward with Professor McGonagall and an elderly wizard Izzy could only assume was the Headmaster.

"Poppy," the Headmaster nodded his head in a solemn greeting to the school nurse.

"Ah, and Miss Black. I am Professor Dumbledore. I've been greatly looking forward to meeting you, though I dearly wish it could have been under entirely different circumstances."

**Author's Note:** I know this chapter is quite short, so I'll go ahead and post an additional chapter that coincides with this one.

What to read more? Make me want to write more by **reviewing**!


	9. Chapter 9: Houses

**Author's Note:** This fic is not intended to strictly adhere to canon. Though many (or most) of its characters and recognizable elements of the plot and/or text are of course property of JKR, this story is written as AU. I don't own anything except my original character(s) and plot that deviates from the Harry Potter canon universe.

**Chapter 9: Houses**

Albus Dumbledore generally considered himself a patient man. Which is why, as the warm days of August slowly brought him closer to September 1st and the start of another school year, he was surprised to find himself growing ever more anxious for the remainder of summer to pass him by quickly.

Of course, the new term marked the beginning of an important school year to the magical community – this was the year Harry Potter (yes, THE Harry Potter) would enter Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a first year student and rejoin their society.

To Albus Dumbledore, however, the importance of this particular September 1st far surpassed that of the student body's most famous addition in recent history (or perhaps ever).

No, while Dumbledore did greatly anticipate Harry Potter's arrival, it was certainly not because the boy was famous – if the Headmaster had been able to arrange the situation as he'd wished ten years ago, Harry would not even _be_ famous. But alas, there had been nothing he could do and so now very famous boy had the eyes of an entire country watching and waiting for any sign of the eleven year old they celebrated as a hero.

Harry, however, was only half the reason why Dumbledore was growing impatient for the new term to start.

Albus Dumbledore had a secret – well, he had _many_ secrets but a very big one in particular related to Harry. While he had not been able to hide the fact of baby Harry's involvement in the events of October 31st, 1981, he had been able to hide certain other facts involved in the triumph over Lord Voldemort that tragic Halloween night nearly ten years ago.

Yes, this was an important year for the magical world. It was important because this year their society welcomed back _both_ Children-Who-Lived.

Outside of Dumbledore himself, only one other person knew of little Elizabeth Black's importance – her father. While others might have worried about a wizard such as Sirius Black knew of his daughter's presence and involvement in Harry Potter's unfortunate claim to fame, Dumbledore had long ago abandoned any concern he had harboured that Black might "out" his own daughter. At this point, even a full-out confession from the man would fall on deaf ears. After all, one's sanity became highly questionable after ten years in close proximity to the dementors of Azkaban.

On the chilly October night that Voldemort's reign of terror had ended, Hagrid had returned from the Potter's small house in Godric's Hollow with not one, but two bundled infants held closely to his chest. Just as Dumbledore had instructed before sending him, Hagrid had searched the house and surrounding area for any and _all_ signs of life and then return immediately to Dumbledore with a full report and any survivors.

Arriving to the Secret location, Hagrid said he knew instantly he was too late. After finding James Potter's body at the base of the stairs, he continued his search of the destroyed home with no luck until beginning his survey of the second floor.

The first two rooms he'd checked on the second level had been empty, but as he approached the last room he had yet to check in the house he spied a pale arm on the floor while the rest of the person that arm belonged to was obstructed from view by the partially open door.

Pushing the door fully open to discover the bodies of both Lily Potter and Sarah Black laying on the floor between where he stood at the room's entrance and what he knew to be baby Harry's crib, Hagrid's attention was stolen away from the lifeless bodies of his friends by a sudden soft noise from the crib, closely followed by another slightly different noise.

Rushing over to the side of the crib, Hagrid was relieved to find both Harry and Elizabeth alive and alert. Both babies seemed relatively unharmed – only the lightning-shaped cuts on both their foreheads gave any indication they had been touched at all.

Gathering both babies up into his arms, Hagrid exited the nursery and made his way to the stairs. Halfway down the flight, Hagrid was startled by the sudden appearance of Sirius Black in the open front doorway.

After taking a brief visual survey of the destruction in his view and the corpse of his former best friend, Sirius asked in a trance-like tone, "Are they okay?" the tilt of his head indicating he was asking about the infants. When Hagrid nodded in the affirmative, Sirius continued, "Sarah and Lily?" Hagrid's eyes began to water as he shook 'no' and then hung his head.

Nearly a minute passed in complete silence before Sirius stated in a cold, bone-chilling voice, "See that they're safe. My motorcycle is outside, take it. I have to take care of something and I won't need it."

And then he was gone.

Everyone knows what happened after that – Sirius had killed former classmate and supposed friend Peter Pettigrew, along with twelve innocent, unsuspecting Muggle by-standers, when cornered and confronted by the other wizard for his betrayal of the Potters. He was nearly ten years in now, on the life sentence he had been convicted to serve.

By the time September 1st had finally rolled around, Dumbledore could hardly contain his anticipation and curiosity. He found himself pacing his office, unable to sit still, an hour before the students were to arrive. Incapable of waiting any longer, he showed up in the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony and Opening Feast earlier than he had in decades.

He was so excited, in fact, that he did not even notice anything was amiss (such as an oh-so-punctual Minerva McGonagall's tardiness in escorting the new first years into the Hall) until he received what he could only guess was a 'warning' look from his Deputy Headmistress as she finally did usher in the unsorted group of eleven year olds.

Quickly dismissing the look until Minerva could just tell him whatever it was she had been trying to convey with her eyes, he began to scan the crowd of amusingly nervous new first years for the two he had been awaiting.

He had allowed Hagrid (after quite a lot of begging on the half-giant's part) to go and explain all-things-Hogwarts to Harry and his relatives, in preparation for the boy's upcoming attendance this term. In Elizabeth's case, however, Filius Flitwick had been sent to the orphanage to notify the little girl and was instructed not to share anything beyond the bare minimum (and certainly nothing magic-related) with the nuns. Hoping to play off the sisters' sympathies, Dumbledore had charged the "dwarf" professor (who was, in fact, not a dwarf but half-goblin) with informing Elizabeth regarding school and the basics of the magical world.

Since the last time he'd seen the children had been nearly ten years ago, he couldn't be absolutely sure what either might look like. He had, however, known each set of parents extremely well so he assumed identifying them would not be terribly difficult.

After twice searching the faces of each new student listening to the Sorting Hat's annual song, he was dismayed to have no clue which of the young witches and wizards before him were Harry Potter and Elizabeth Black. He resigned himself to having to wait until the children were called up to the stool to be sorted and turned his attention to the Sorting Hat's song.

"…_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. And then, finally, the Sorting could begin.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause – "HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The Hufflepuff table cheered loudly as little Hannah Abbott scurried over to join her new house.

Professor McGonagall continued, "Bones, Susan!" and another girl, this one with pale skin and strawberry-blonde hair, slid on the Sorting Hat as she took her place on the stool.

It only took a moment for Dumbledore to realize that something was wrong. _Why have we skipped from Abbott to Bones? What happened to Black? B-L comes before B-O!_

Now somewhat worried and definitely confused, Dumbledore's eyes flicked over towards the group of attentive children waiting their turn to be sorted and once again tried to identify two in particular. Just as he finished one pass and had begun to start another, Hagrid burst into the Great Hall.

Traversing the length of the hall quickly (even for Hagrid), the groundskeeper made right for Dumbledore at a very hurried pace. Upon reaching the old wizard, Hagrid bent over to whisper in Dumbledore's ear.

"'S 'arry Potter, Headmaster. Madam Pomfrey says yer to come 'mediately."

And in that moment, Dumbledore's heart momentarily stopped beating before picking back up at twice its previous rate. In no time at all, he was rushing out of the Great Hall towards the Hospital Wing, Hagrid and Minerva McGonagall – after hurriedly requesting, "Professor Flitwick, will you please take over?" – close on his tail.

They made exceptional time on their way to the Hospital Wing, every staircase and hallway on its best behaviour, as the castle's response to the Headmaster's sense of urgency.

When they arrived, Albus Dumbledore had wasted no time throwing open the double doors, entering the sparklingly clean ward, and promptly making his way to the only occupied bed.

"Poppy," the Headmaster nodded his head in a solemn greeting to the school nurse.

"Ah, and Miss Black. I am Professor Dumbledore. I've been greatly looking forward to meeting you, though I dearly wish it could have been under entirely different circumstances."

**Author's Note:** As always, please REVIEW after reading! Thanks!


	10. Chapter 10: You Mean

**Author's Note:** This fic is not intended to strictly adhere to canon. Though many (or most) of its characters and recognizable elements of the plot and/or text are of course property of JKR, this story is written as AU. I don't own anything except my original character(s) and plot that deviates from the Harry Potter canon universe.

Longest chapter I've written so far… Enjoy!

**Chapter 10: You Mean…**

"_Ah, and Miss Black. I am Professor Dumbledore. I've been greatly looking forward to meeting you, though I dearly wish it could have been under entirely different circumstances."_

_Me? Why would the old man be 'looking forward' to meeting _me_? Weirdo. Even his eyes are weird! Why are they twinkling at me? How do eyes even twinkle?_

A very confused and slightly flustered Elizabeth returned her focus to Harry to avoid the Headmaster's odd gaze.

Madam Pomfrey managed to recapture Dumbledore's attention by clearing her throat and then gestured with a head movement that they step away for a moment so that she could discuss the situation with the other adults.

The mediwitch retreated from her patient's bedside, to a distance she judged far enough away to avoid reaching the children's ears. She could not have known, however, that – thanks to her childhood as a life-long outsider and yet frequent topic of discussion among others – Elizabeth was an expert in following a conversation at a distance. Using all her relevant senses (and perhaps unknowingly aided by her magic), Izzy was aware of every word, gesture, expression, and look that she was never intended to be.

"Of course I knew he'd be arriving today, but you didn't think to warn me beforehand of the condition he'd be in? Didn't you think I might like to prepare myself for the amount of treatment he's going to need? Albus, that boy is a mess!" Madam Pomfrey reprimanded as she tried to keep herself from yelling.

Dumbledore, while thoroughly confused and becoming increasingly concerned, attempted to outwardly display a calm exterior. "Poppy," he addressed in as soothing a tone as he could muster, "Could you please tell us what's actually _wrong_ with Mr. Potter?"

She gave him a flabbergasted look before answering, "What's wrong with him? What is _wrong_ with him!? What's _NOT_ wrong with him, Albus?" At this point, Madam Pomfrey's voice had grown so loud that even someone _not_ actively trying to over-hear the conversation would have had no difficulty in doing so from where Izzy still sat at Harry's bedside.

"Besides being severely under-sized for a boy his age – thanks, in large part, to years of malnourishment, I might add – his skin is covered in scars and his bones are riddled with breaks and fractures in various stages of healing. Some of them are clearly years old and have long-since been repaired, but others are far more recent. In fact, I found a few of his ribs fractured so recently that the injury _must_ have occurred within just the last few days as they have yet to even _begin_ the healing process! And that's not to mention all the fresh cuts and copious amounts of bruising visible across his body right this second!" she ranted.

Then her voice softened with sadness, "Albus, the reason he was unconscious when Hagrid brought him in is because he's slowly been bleeding internally for hours, probably all day… If he hadn't been brought to me when he was, I'm quite certain he wouldn't have survived the hour."

The veteran healer's eyes shone with unshed tears as they held Dumbledore's pale blue gaze while he processed all the information she had just given him. Her awareness was drawn back towards her patient by the creak of a mattress spring.

Now looking at the ward's only occupied bed, she found a sight which would otherwise have seemed so very sweet in its innocent nature but that, as it was, seemed utterly heartbreaking under the given circumstances.

Hearing that her Harry had come so close to death, Izzy had climbed up into the bed with him, desperately clinging to his frail body with both arms as though afraid he might disappear if she let go.

_I didn't leave you, just like I said I wouldn't. So now you can't leave me, Harry. I won't let you!_

_Who else would I tease, if not you? More importantly, who would calm me down when I'm angry?_

_God Harry, just think of how quickly I'd be expelled! You don't want me to be expelled do you? I wouldn't even last _a week_ alone around other people without putting my foot up some idiot's arse and getting caught!_

_I swear if you die and leave me alone, I'll never forgive you! Actually, I'd bring you back to life first – I __**am**__ a witch, you know! – just to be able to kill you again myself and _then_ I'd never forgive you! So don't even think about trying to die on me, you git!_

Just then, Izzy recognized that she was being hailed before she was lightly shaken by someone.

"Miss Black," the mediwitch said. "Miss Black, Professor Dumbledore would like to speak with you."

Izzy's eyes shifted from Madam Pomfrey to Professor Dumbledore, at whom she simply stared while waiting for the old wizard to speak. He could not help but return the little witch's appraising stare.

"Miss Black," he began when it was clear she had no plans of leaving the bed, "May I call you Elizabeth?"

After receiving an affirmative nod from the girl, he continued, "Well then, Elizabeth, I must say, I'm quite confused. I have a great number of questions I wish to ask you, but let's begin with an easier one. Elizabeth, do you _know_ this boy?"

She nodded again, without speaking. This had been one of the first questions to pop into his mind when he first entered the Hospital Wing and found _both_ the children he had been specifically looking for in the group of first years down in the Great Hall.

_Elizabeth Black is _here_ too? What's she doing here holding the hand of a boy she's never met – even if it _is_ Harry Potter? _Have_ they met? How could they possibly have met? Where?_

"Elizabeth, _how_ do you know Harry? Where did you meet him? And when?" This time, the girl slightly tilted her head and her look became one of confusion, as though she couldn't understand the questions he had just asked her.

She remained this way for several moments, only looking increasingly confused as she tried to formulate an answer. As it was, the answer she gave did little to satisfy Dumbledore's curiosity, "I don't know what you mean '_how_ do I know him'. I just do. I've _always_ known Harry."

When the small girl had rolled her deep blue eyes while giving this response – one which conveyed to the whole group that she was annoyed by the old wizard's silly questions – he heard Minerva immediately let a single chuckle slip out before she was able to stifle it and then noted that she seemed to be working quite hard in order to affect her usual stern demeanor.

He decided to slightly rephrase, "So if you've always known Harry, then you don't remember the first time you ever saw him? Where did you two most often see each other in the past, before coming to Hogwarts?"

This new set of questions seemed to strike more of a cord in the raven-coloured head than had the first set. Before answering though, she once again rolled her eyes – this time with a little huff of exasperation – as though she thought this information should have been the most obvious thing in the world.

Minerva lost it. All the control she had wrangled to mask her amusement broke and she began to openly laugh. That is, until her mirth was swiftly replaced by bewilderment at Elizabeth's latest response.

"The first time I saw him was at King's Cross. We never _saw_ each other before that," Elizabeth informed them.

Hagrid (who was at this time standing a bit farther away from the bed than the rest of the staff members present), Madam Pomfrey, and Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall all looked around at one another, each hoping that one of the others would understand the riddles the little girl seemed to be speaking but finding no such luck.

It was Hagrid who eventually asked what they were all thinking. "So ya don' _really_ know 'im then, Elizabeth? Ya jus' met'im today?"

She began to glare at the lot of them for not understanding something she had just made so clear.

"What I _said_ was that I only _saw_ him for the first time today, but I've always _known_ him. Just because we couldn't _see_ each other, doesn't mean we didn't _know_ each other. We talk all the time!"

This seemed to clarify a bit better as the adults in the room now looked like they understood.

Madam Pomfrey spoke again to inquire, "Oh, so then how do you two talk? By Floo? Owl? By Muggle post? Or maybe it's – what's that odd thing they talk into again? ... a felly-phone?"

The little girl giggled at a grown woman mispronouncing such an everyday word. "It's _tele_phone but no – kids aren't allowed to use the one at the orphanage. But what's a floo?"

Ignoring Elizabeth's question about the Floo, Dumbledore pressed on, "So if you didn't use any of those, Elizabeth, then how _did_ you talk to one another?"

"Well, you know…" she rolled her eyes yet again, in the belief that _she_ of all people shouldn't have to explain to _them_ – fully grown witches and wizards, and professors at that! – how she talked to Harry.

Dumbledore mutely shook his head that _no_, they _didn't_ know.

It wasn't until that moment that Elizabeth began to worry that she and Harry _were_, in fact, freaks – just as the Dursleys had always insisted.

She had always known and accepted that she was different from all the other kids at the orphanage and now assumed (after being informed by Professor Flitwick that she was a witch) that her differences had been due to her magical powers. Harry, on the other hand, had _always_ thought hearing her voice in his head was due to some inherent mental instability of his own (even after finding out he was a wizard).

She just figured that _all_ witches and wizards could hear others in their heads sometimes – it was normal because they were magic! But was it normal? Even in the magical world?

"You know…" she began more hesitantly now, "When I want to tell him something, I think the words real loud and then…" she paused to see if they might understand where she was going with this now and not need her to complete the sentence. She found her hopes disappointed. "And then I hear his voice answer back in my head."

All but one of the staff narrowed their eyes in renewed confusion and perhaps skepticism. Dumbledore, however, raised his eyebrows in surprise before his face became a mask of tranquility that was common when his mind began to race as he fully thought through all the aspects of a hunch.

After nearly two minutes of this silence, Madam Pomfrey spoke up – concern for her patient and a need to know what had happened to the poor little boy superseding any desire to further clarify what the girl was trying to tell them or any doubts she may have regarding the girl's veracity, "Elizabeth, did Harry tell you he wasn't feeling well or how much he was hurting? Did he tell you what happened?"

Izzy gave it thought as she took a deep breath and then explained, "Well, he didn't have to _tell_ me he didn't feel good or that it hurt – I could feel it. I always feel it, every time, so he didn't have to bother wasting his breath telling me something like _that_."

She paused, her face flushing in an anger that became apparent as she opened her mouth to answer the nurse's second question, "As for what _happened_…"

She stopped speaking for nearly half a minute, taking a series of very deep breaths which made her chest rise and fall quite obviously, and clearly attempting to calm herself before continuing.

_This is supposed to be _your_ job, Harry! You know I'm no good at keeping my temper or calming myself down! _Especially_ when the subject is your stupid, ugly, evil – did I say stupid yet? – stinkin' relatives! Idiots! Wake up already, Harry, I _need_ you!_

"What happened was the same as what always happens. Except worse this time. Maybe worse than ever before, but I don't know – it's harder to remember exactly what it was like when we were little. Thinking back _now_, what I remember doesn't _look_ as bad as they do now. But at the time, it always _seemed_ scarier than it does now and I _definitely_ remember it hurting worse."

Halfway through, she had started looking thoughtfully at Harry. By the end she had moved one hand to gently stroke his hair while he slept.

The hand that had been in Harry's hair suddenly moved down to grasp at the hospital gown on Harry's chest. She squeezed the cloth in her hand tightly into a fist and her sweet demeanor vanished in an instant as she continued staring at Harry's face.

"I _HATE_ him!" she all-but whispered with enough venom to shock everyone present.

"Thinks just because he's big that he can _say_ whatever he wants, _do_ whatever he wants, and nothing or no-one can ever do anything to stop him… But I'll show him. One day. I _will_, I'll show him how it feels to be the weak one, to be the powerless one, the helpless one…"

Each adult's countenance displayed a different reaction to Elizabeth's declarations. Hagrid looked worried for the little thing whose face had gone completely red as she spoke. Madam Pomfrey looked horrified that such threats and words of hate were possible from such a young girl. Professor McGonagall looked deeply concerned about the root of Elizabeth's hate – both the past that it implied and the future ramifications it could hold (such as a possible follow-through on those threats).

In contrast to the _relatively_ similar reactions of the others, Professor Dumbledore looked ashamed. He _was_ ashamed. After all, he was the one ultimately responsible for both children's overall welfare.

He had even been warned by Arabella Figg that she didn't think his relatives liked Harry all that much, that maybe they weren't all that kind or loving with him.

But if she had _ever_ told Dumbledore she thought – for even _one_ minute – that they were doing irreversible mental or emotional harm, much less that they might actually be _physically hurting_ the boy, he would have removed Harry from their care in a second.

Unfortunately, since Vernon Dursley had apparently been very careful to hide all damning evidence of his abuse in areas that would be covered by Harry's clothes, Mrs. Figg had never doubted the boy's _physical_ wellbeing.

Dumbledore had never considered the possibility that Harry might not fit in with a family of Muggles a strong enough reason to put an end to the situation. Especially since he had placed Harry with the Dursleys specifically because of the ultimate protection blood wards could provide – an option only available to him while in the care of his last remaining relatives.

_If he had only known…_

_If he had only known_ that not only was Harry _not_ liked by his family, he was in fact hated. _If he had only known_ that this hatred was being translated into acts of abuse – both physical and otherwise. _If he had only known_ that his choice of custody for Harry would turn out to be a decision he would forever wish he could take back. _If he had only known_ then perhaps the last decade of this poor little boy's life could have been so very different, could have been closer to the safe and happy childhood that _every_ child deserves – Harry Potter most of all.

His inability to reverse or erase the damage of the past ten years of Harry's life was now the greatest regret of his own already very long life.

Still not quite grasping the situation in its entirety, Madam Pomfrey questioned, "Who, Elizabeth? _Who_ is it you hate so much?"

Elizabeth's face instantly cleared of the intense anger and hatred it had held, not even moments ago, and she turned to face Madam Pomfrey in shock. Then, as if shocked because she had assumed it was quite obvious, she emotionlessly stated, "Vernon Dursley, of course."

Having recovered from wallowing in his regret, Dumbledore had of course already known this was who Elizabeth had been talking about all along. He had already known it was Vernon Dursley she meant when she had first said 'she hated him'.

He took advantage of the others' need for a few moments to process this information in order to confirm his hunch.

"Would you all mind excusing us for a few moments? I would like to speak with Elizabeth alone," he told his staff, dismissing them for now.

As he waited for the others to register and fulfill his request, by following Madam Pomfrey to her office at the far end of the ward, he took the time to consider the sight before him. He had never seen anything like it.

In all the 110 years he had thus far walked this earth, never before had he come across a child with such tremendous power. He noticed it the moment he had walked through the Hospital Wing's double doors. She practically glowed with it. It was simply astonishing.

What shocked him even more was the result of her relocation to the bed. When, after Madam Pomfrey had finished summarizing Harry's condition, Dumbledore had returned his attention to the two children to find them _both_ lying together on the bed, he was glad to already be in the Hospital Wing because he nearly had a heart attack.

The aura of power that had previously illuminated Elizabeth, now surrounded both children. At first, he did not know what to make of it. He had never seen magical power shared between two people like this before, not even in any of the most powerful witches or wizards of his acquaintance. While he suspected this particular power to be Elizabeth's in origin (due to her sole possession of it when he first arrived and Harry's current unconscious state), it was now as if the magic actually belonged to _both_ little bodies.

_And that's just the one! Imagine what the two could do together if Harry's magic is even half as powerful as hers! Simply unbelievable! Never in my wildest dreams…_

Though the irregularity in the children's power amazed him, he was clueless as to its cause until Elizabeth had begun responding to his questions on how she knew Harry. At first he'd been as stumped as the rest by the little girl's answers, but when she'd told them exactly _how_ she talked to Harry a light-bulb had switched on and then practically exploded in his head…

They were connected. He wasn't positive of just how the connection had formed or of its extent between the two. But the more little Elizabeth Black said, the more convinced Dumbledore became that his hunch was correct.

The shared power he was looking at right this second, the apparent ability to speak to each other using only their minds, she felt the pain of Harry's injuries. At one point it had even sounded to Dumbledore as though they could share vision and he'd definitely bet they dreamed together… It all fit. And yet he almost couldn't believe it.

As the other adults passed through the doorway into Madam Pomfrey's office, he cast a Muffliato charm to ensure the privacy of their conversation.

"Elizabeth, what you were trying to tell us earlier… Are you saying that you and Harry talk using only your minds? That you've always spoken to each other this way? Is that why you've always known Harry?" he clarified.

Her only response was a somewhat relieved-looking nod, glad someone finally understood.

"And you could _feel_ Harry's pain from all the injuries, as though it were your own?"

This time she spoke up in answer, "Well not exactly like if it was mine, it's a little different when it's his. Otherwise, we would never have made it all the way here since neither of us would have been able to move enough to get us on the train today and then off again."

"Ah, I see." And he really did. His hunch had been right.

"And from what I gathered during your condemnation of Mr. Dursley, I'd guess that perhaps sometimes you can see what Harry is actually seeing through his eyes?" he furthered.

Again she nodded, but added, "Not all the time though – that would be _really_ distracting! Just when he thinks about it really loud so it replays in brain. Or sometimes it's kind of like he just loses control of it and I see it all as it happens. That can be pretty annoying sometimes because it gets hard to focus on what's actually happening in front of _me_, when he can't stop sharing. I don't get mad at him for it when it happens though, I know he can't help it. It usually only happens when he's with Uncle Vernon…" her voice lowered substantially in the last sentence, setting it apart from the rest of her speech and its matter-of-fact tone.

"Elizabeth, do you mean that you've actually _seen_ Harry's uncle hurting him?" he asked, concerned. She nodded, while avoiding his gaze and looking softly at Harry.

"Every time," she supplied. His sorrow over the damage caused by his past decisions only deepened. Not only had Harry had to live through these travesties, Elizabeth had been subjected to them as well. Maybe not physically harmed, as Harry had been, but she had been present and forced to watch each time Vernon Dursley had beat his nephew and that would surely have affected the little girl that now clung to her other half.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," he told Elizabeth sincerely. He didn't know what else to say. What else _could_ he say, really? There was nothing that would undone the choices he had made years ago, nothing that could erase the damage that had already been done.

So instead… "You know, Elizabeth, you're wrong about one thing you said earlier."

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead in surprise and curiosity. "What? What was I wrong about?" she asked, her face making it obvious that she was trying to figure out what she had said that could possibly have been wrong.

He answered before she succeeded, "You were wrong when you said the first time that you and Harry ever saw each other was today at King's Cross. I'm sure you don't remember, but you two have seen each other before…"

**Author's Note:** Okay, seriously guys I need people to **review! **With well over 1000 views this week and nearly 400 separate visitors, I've only gotten one single review (thank you so much to xXallegedangelXx, my only reviewer; I really appreciate your input!). So **review**, okay!? Even if it's to tell me something you didn't like or make a suggestion for what you'd like to see happen at some point in this story. Alright, glad we've got that settled then. Thanks in advance for your reviews!

P.S. Just so we're clear, at no point in this story have I (nor will I) _ever_ intend to imply that Vernon Dursley's abuse of Harry ever extended into the realm of sexual abuse. This is not to belittle the horror of mental, emotional, and physical abuse (all of which I _do_ mean to imply), but I just don't even want to go _there_ (sexual abuse) with this story. Just wanted to make sure that was clear after I read this chapter back to myself.


	11. Chapter 11: Revelations

**Author's Note:** This fic is not intended to strictly adhere to canon. Though many (or most) of its characters and recognizable elements of the plot and/or text are of course property of JKR, this story is written as AU. I don't own anything except my original character(s) and plot that deviates from the Harry Potter canon universe.

So apparently the 'line of dashes' that I mentioned and thought I had begun using a few chapters back – lines that I intended to separate the little italicized recap at the beginning of a chapter from the body of the new chapter itself – haven't been showing up…sorry if that's caused any confusion!

**Chapter 11: Revelations**

"_You were wrong when you said the first time that you and Harry ever saw each other was today at King's Cross. I'm sure you don't remember, but you two have seen each other before…"_

Izzy evaluated the old man skeptically. _How would _he_ know if Harry and I had seen each other before today? I just met the man – not even half an hour ago! What are you playing at, you crafty old bugger?_

His pale blue eyes twinkled anew behind half-moon spectacles as she answered, "Oh yeah? How do you figure?"

"Well, you see…" he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "Once upon a time, I knew two remarkable boys – the best of friends. When the two boys grew to be men, married equally remarkable witches, and began having children of their own, their greatest hopes were that their children know the kind of friendship that they shared themselves. So the two men, who still spent a great deal of time with one another – even with their very busy grown-up lives, made sure to always bring their babies along when they met so that their children might play together and – with any luck – one day grow to be as great of friends as the two men."

He didn't know why he had decided to tell the story as if it was a nursery-rhyme – such style was obviously quite infantile to an eleven year old, even more so to one who had lived through all that Elizabeth had already.

Perhaps, by recounting it as a 'once upon a time…' tale, he had wanted to separate the story he told Elizabeth – of the great friendship that once existed between her father and Harry's – from the reality of her father's ultimate betrayal. After all, he did not wish to cause either child any more pain than he unknowingly already had.

Or maybe recounting the past as a fairytale wasn't for the children's sake at all. Perhaps it was his own method of coping with painful memories of the War, especially the betrayal and tragedy of the Marauders – memories which had (in his mind) become inexorably embodied by the two dark-headed children in front of him.

"The two men who were such great friends…" he looked at Elizabeth to confirm she had indeed been following the story.

"The two men were James Potter and Sirius Black – Harry's father and yours," he finished quietly.

"So our fathers were best friends?" she asked. He nodded.

"And Harry and I played together when we were babies?" she further clarified. Again, he nodded.

She chose a spot on the wall several feet to his right and stared at it as the gears in her little head began to turn. He knew she would probably need several minutes to wrap her brain around all the implications of his story and formulate the questions he knew she would want to ask. So he sat back, in his own thoughts, as he waited for her questions to come.

If it had been just Harry beginning his education at Hogwarts this year, he might not have had to recount the full story of the Black-Potter relationship and how it was relevant to the events that had occurred on October 31, 1981. But as it was, other students (or more likely, the _parents_ of other students) would hear the name Black and gossip, especially if the little girl who held the name was obviously close friends with Harry Potter.

No, he had no choice really. If he didn't share his knowledge of their families' pasts with the two children upfront, they would still learn of almost all of it through the Hogwarts Rumor Mill. More likely than not, others' versions of events would be told in a much harsher light of exaggeration, half-truths, prejudice, speculation, and incompleteness. He would rather they heard the tragic reality of their pasts from himself.

But he'd wait until Harry was awake to tell them the full story, when _both_ children could have the opportunity to ask whatever they needed. For now, though, he knew Elizabeth needed something to occupy her mind while she waited for Harry to wake.

"Professor, is that how Harry and I can talk then? Is it because we've known each other since we were babies?" she began with the first of what he assumed would be quite a few questions.

"I suppose one might say that, in a way, that contributed. What I believe to be the reason you two are so uniquely connected is the similarly unique scar you both share. That's right," he continued at her look of shock, "I know you have a scar to match the one on Harry's forehead. I must say, though, that Muggle – what's it called?...take-up?"

"Make-up," she corrected.

"Right, well, that Muggle _make_-up does do wonders at hiding it beneath your fringe. The things Muggles come up with sometimes astound me," he shook his head in wonder.

"And they can be downright useful in the magical world too. Your use of Muggle _make_-up is a perfect example – though I'm sure you had no idea of it when you applied it to yourself. You see, Elizabeth, if you had attempted to hide your scar using almost any _magical_ means of disguise, a sufficiently powerful witch or wizard – such as myself…and likely Professor McGonagall as well – would have recognized that you were using a magical concealment to alter or hide some, if not all, of your physical features."

"As it is," he continued in explanation, "With just that Muggle make-up and your own hair covering the scar, no one would have ever known it was there – no matter how powerful they might be. It –"

"Well then, how did _you_ know it was there?" she interrupted, regarding Dumbledore with suspicion.

"I, my dear, knew it was there beforehand. I saw the scars _fresh_ on both your foreheads, the night that they were inflicted. But I believe that's a story for later, when Harry can join us."

He could tell where this conversation was beginning to lead and – not wanting to go in that direction until Harry was awake – decided to drop their conversation for a while, hoping she would do likewise and he would not have to find a means to divert her attention elsewhere.

"I believe I'll go discuss a few matters with Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall, if you'll please excuse me?"

It was clearly a rhetorical request so she didn't bother responding. She just lay there, holding onto Harry, thinking about all that she had learned in the past few minutes.

Several hours later, Madam Pomfrey and Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall sat in the nurse's personal office at one end of the Hospital Wing, quietly having tea. Hagrid had excused himself long ago to attend to the thestrals which had been left waiting, still fully harnessed, outside the school's main doors.

Madam Pomfrey had frequently left to check on her patient and the little girl that had fallen asleep on the bed with him but, as there had yet to be any significant visible improvement, the three adults just sat quietly waiting for some change and sporadically engaging in an occasional conversation.

Following her most recent trip to the main ward, Madam Pomfrey had returned with information on a _different_ patient than the one they had been expecting an update on.

"I've just run several diagnostics on Miss Black, while she's still sleeping, and I have to say I'm not terribly impressed with her condition either. Oh, she's in nowhere near the state of Mister Potter but her health is far below what I'd prefer to see in an incoming first year student," Madam Pomfrey assessed.

"Specifically, Poppy?" Dumbledore wondered.

"Well, like Mister Potter she's terribly undersized – though it doesn't seem to be _entirely_ nutrition-related. It's also likely to be partially genetic in her case – you remember how petit her mother always was, even at her full adult size. Malnutrition _is_ still an issue for Elizabeth, however. She suffers from several nutritional deficiencies, just not to the severe degree in which Harry does. Where Harry looks to have been frequently starved, Elizabeth has been fed regularly but the meals were of poor nutritional content and of smaller portions than what her body truly required," she explained.

"Also like Mister Potter, she has had more than her fair share of broken bones. Not enough to definitively tell me that she too has suffered physical abuse at the hands of a caretaker though. She may just be clumsier than the average witch. Luckily, none of her breaks appear to have been recent and I assume she received professional medical care for most, if not all of them, since they all appear to have healed in the correct positions – unlike many of Mister Potter's previous breaks, which I will need to reset at some point."

She paused before continuing with the finding that most troubled her in Elizabeth's diagnostics.

"What concerns me most with Elizabeth is a congenital deformation in her left hip that has never been treated. Perhaps the Muggle healers were unable to identify it through any of their own diagnostic means or perhaps they had no available methods to treat such an issue. In either case, I imagine it has caused her a great deal of pain over the years and it surely would have prevented her from being able to move and play in exactly the same manner as her peers."

"I am able to treat the condition but it'll take at least two day's worth of Skele-gro treatment to fix it by removing the current femur and pelvis and then re-growing them in the correct shape. It will be fairly painful, but if she consents then she should regain the full-potential of joint mobility and normal use of her left leg," she concluded.

"With your permission, Headmaster, all I'll need is the approval of her guardians and Miss Black's own consent before beginning. I thought it might be best to get it done now, before the term really gets into full swing and while Harry's confined here anyway – since it doesn't seem that she'll be willing to leave his side anytime soon."

Professor McGonagall gave a slight uncharacteristic chuckle at Poppy's last observation, while the Headmaster grinned and regained a bit of the twinkle his eyes had lost at first hearing that Elizabeth's health was poor as well.

"If you believe it's the proper course of treatment, Poppy, then I defer to your vastly more knowledgeable opinion on this matter. As for the timing, I agree with your reasoning for wanting to begin right away. However, the approval of her guardians may prove to be a slightly trickier matter," he said, the last sentence spoken almost as a sigh.

"Albus?" - "Headmaster?" both witches seated in front of him questioned at the same time.

There was now no mistaking the sigh his mouth released, before he began his resigned explanation.

"I suppose if anyone at Hogwarts should be made aware of certain truths regarding Mister Potter and Miss Black, it should be you two. After all, Poppy, you are responsible for their medical care, to which upcoming revelations are likely to be relevant. And of course, Minerva, as Deputy Headmistress you've a right to be included in such a vital secret. You are also likely to be Harry and Elizabeth's Head of House as well – if Miss Black's earlier behaviour is any indication – just as you were to all four of their parents," he observed thoughtfully, grinning as he mentioned the spunk they had all clearly witnessed in Elizabeth earlier.

"I have a great deal of information to reveal, but I'd prefer to only have to do this once so I'd rather wait for both children to awaken before beginning – they deserve to know the full truth as well," he said.

"Poppy, might I use your Floo for a moment?" he politely asked.

"Of course, Headmaster. The Floo powder is just there on the mantle," she informed him as she pointed to a purple velvet pouch, held together by seams of bright red stitching and closed at the top by a draw-string tie.

It was indeed sitting on the mantle above the large fireplace that monopolized nearly an entire wall of Madam Pomfrey's office. The two witches watched the Headmaster retrieve the pouch with curiosity plain in their expressions, wondering what need he had for the Floo.

"I greatly appreciate it," he thanked as he opened the pouch of Floo powder and tossed just a pinch into flames as he made his way onto his knees – not the easiest of tasks for a man of his considerable age, however sprightly he might seem.

Once on his knees, he stuck his head forward so that it was enveloped by the emerald green flames while the remainder of his body stayed crouched on the hearth outside the fire.

"Andromeda Tonks," he called as his head entered the flames.

"Hello, Andromeda. How are you, my dear?"

"Good to hear. Ted and Nymphadora are also well I trust?"

Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall were only privy to Dumbledore's side of the conversation. And while neither wished to appear to be eavesdropping on a possibly private conversation, both paid rapt attention to the conversation nonetheless and gleamed what they could from the one side available to them.

"Excellent. Well Andromeda, I'll get straight to the point. I'm sure you of all people were well aware that the Hogwarts student body was to be joined by two particular new first year additions this year…"

"Yes, yes, of course. Well, their arrival at the castle actually ended up taking place under less-than-desired circumstances…Calm down, Andromeda! I'm well aware!"

After several moments, during which it could be assumed the Headmaster was still receiving an earful from the hearth on the other side of the Floo fire, Dumbledore was finally able to continue.

"Yes, if you could please make your way over now, I think that would be for the best. Yes, the address is the Office of Madam Pomfrey, Hospital Wing, Hogwarts Castle. See you soon," he finished and then removed his head from the flames as he backed away from the hearth and slowly stood once again, turning to face the witches he'd left to their tea while using the Floo.

At the raised eyebrows on both their foreheads, he explained, "Minerva I know you're quite familiar with Andromeda. And, Poppy, I'm sure you must remember her daughter, Nymphadora, who just graduated this year. However, have you ever met Andromeda Tonks, Nymphadora's mother?"

When Madam Pomfrey responded in the negative by shaking her head, Dumbledore went on, "Nymphadora's mother, Andromeda Tonks, was born Andromeda Black, cousin of Sirius Black. Andromeda, like Sirius, was disowned by the Black family due to a difference of opinion on the importance of blood purity and her decision to marry Ted Tonks, a Muggleborn," Dumbledore explained.

"Sirius and Andromeda were raised very closely – often in the same household, due to her mother's mental instability. As adults, the two were brought even closer by their common beliefs and the resulting alienation both faced from the rest of their prejudiced family," Dumbledore told the nurse.

"The House of Black formally disowned Andromeda upon her marriage to Ted. With Sirius, however, it was the opposite case. _He_ chose to disown _them_ – the House of Black, that is – for their decision to openly and publicly support Voldemort in the War," he disclosed, finishing his background on the recent history of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

The fire behind him roared to life once again as the green flames reached even greater heights than before.

"As Sirius' closest living – non-estranged – relative, Andromeda became Elizabeth's official guardian when her father was sentenced to Azkaban. Guardianship of Harry, on the other hand, is quite a bit more complicated and while Elizabeth was not raised by Andromeda and her family-"

"_That_ was _not_ a choice in which I was given much of a say, now was it Albus?" a rather small woman with jet black hair, a complexion nearly olive in tone, and a fierce glare interrupted Dumbledore as she entered the office through the fireplace.

"You _know_ if I'd had my way, _both_ children – but at the very least, Elizabeth – would have been raised by Ted and I," she leveled at Dumbledore, almost accusingly.

Dumbledore sighed before speaking. Andromeda Tonks may have believed the sigh was one of resigned acceptance – an acceptance that the two would never agree on this issue. The two other witches in the room, however, knew better after having learned the exact consequences of the Headmaster's past decisions regarding custody.

"Andromeda, I'm sure you remember my Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall…" he began the introductions (or re-introductions, as was this case).

"Of course, Minerva, lovely to see you again," she greeted politely, moving forward to touch a cheek to one of Professor McGonagall's in the sort of pseudo-kiss that was a standard greeting among the high society of Magical Britain.

"And this is Madam Poppy Pomfrey, Hogwarts' own mediwitch – and quite a talented healer, in her own right," Dumbledore continued, introducing the newcomer to a witch she'd never actually met before.

Though she had never before had the pleasure of meeting Madam Pomfrey, Andromeda was _quite_ familiar with her reputation among the nation's magical medical community as a first-class healer. As the mother of a witch who could manage to trip over her own feet while lying down asleep in her own bed, Andromeda's first action (after her clumsy daughter had received her first Hogwarts letter) had been to ask a few friends at St. Mungo's what they thought of the Hogwarts school nurse. Madam Pomfrey had been highly praised by each friend.

In fact, more often than not her friends actually enthusiastically touted the Hogwarts mediwitch as likely proving to be the solution to Andromeda's problems with getting Nymphadora to allow her body to heal fully and properly, instead of just covering them up and hiding them using her abilities as a Metamorphmagus.

So no, Andromeda Tonks had never met Madam Poppy Pomfrey in the flesh. She did, however, feel as though she knew the woman and was unendingly grateful for her presence at Hogwarts over the past seven years. Only the frequent attentions of a highly gifted healer could have allowed her daughter to survive her own lack of coordination to have reached graduation relatively intact.

"Ah, yes, Madam Pomfrey. I've heard quite a lot about you from my daughter, Nymphadora. Knowing her, I'm sure she had a great many more occasions to visit you, while she was in school, than she'll ever admit to me," Mrs. Tonks teased her absent daughter, as she bent in a respectful curtsy – her manners unintentionally highlighting the pure-blood upbringing Dumbledore had mentioned to Madam Pomfrey before the elegant woman's arrival.

"Perhaps. Thankfully though, it was rarely ever – if at all – for anything beyond the odd bruise or cut here and there, always relatively minor really," the ward's matron assured, returning a curtsy in greeting.

Andromeda smiled, "You're far too modest, Madam Pomfrey. Or possibly you wish not to worry me, but I like to think I know my daughter better than most mothers know their children – and what Nymphadora lacks in grace and coordination she makes up for in curiosity, a penchant for adventure, and a talent for trouble."

"Though I'm sure she appreciates your continued discretion where I am concerned, I hold no illusions that her school years peacefully passed without injury. In fact, I'd guess that her marks could have been predicted by the number of visits to you here each term – probably about once a week, on average, correct? There is no doubt in my mind that I owe you a considerable debt of gratitude for Nymphadora's continued survival, Madam Pomfrey. So thank you for what I'm sure was indeed _very_ hard work," Andromeda laughed, as she gave the now somewhat flustered healer yet another polite curtsy.

"Well, now that we've all been introduced, let's cut to the chase shall we, Albus?" Andromeda put forth in a no-nonsense tone. While this air of pragmatism directly contrasted the polished, formal tone of her greetings and the teasing manner she exhibited when discussing her daughter, the characteristic was quite familiar to those who knew her well.

"Indeed, have a seat, won't you, Andromeda?" he gestured to a chair he had just transfigured out of an empty waste bin behind her. She wasted no time in taking her seat.

He figured he may as well just get it over with – telling Andromeda the news of the children's conditions – so she could tell him off, and they could move forward with their business.

"Andromeda, Harry was unconscious when he arrived here at Hogwarts today," he briefly paused to await the gasp he expected but never received from Andromeda.

"According to Elizabeth, he wouldn't have made it onto the train at all had she not taken matters into her own hands. Once they arrived here at Hogwarts, he was immediately brought up to Madam Pomfrey, for medical attention. In addition to running diagnostics on both children, we also spoke to Elizabeth regarding several issues – mostly to do with Harry and his injuries – before she fell asleep. No need to worry about her, right this second, she's just napping. Harry, on the other hand…"

He stopped, temporarily, unsure of how exactly he could best inform Andromeda of the seriousness of his condition without causing her to panic. In the end, he thought it best that the professional of the group laid it out – or at least that's how he justified the act of cowardice to his own sense of pride.

"Madam Pomfrey, perhaps it's best if you were to continue and give your professional diagnoses of the children's medical conditions."

Hogwarts' ever-competent nurse did just that, explaining and detailing the precise nature of first Harry's and then Elizabeth's medical statuses, all the while including her own thoughts on how these conditions came about, how she planned to treat them, and the future prognosis she held for each child.

Andromeda asked several questions throughout the conversation and, while these were clearly directed at Madam Pomfrey and her professional knowledge, never once did Andromeda's gaze waver from Albus Dumbledore. Both parties involved in the stare-down outwardly displayed more and more emotion in their expressions as the discussion went on – Dumbledore looking ever-more ashamed and penitent, and Andromeda increasingly furious.

When Madam Pomfrey had concluded, Andromeda simply asked, "Is that all?" To which Madam Pomfrey replied in the affirmative.

Andromeda Tonks surprised all three Hogwarts staff members when she said nothing further, broke her focus away from Dumbledore, and abruptly stood from her chair to promptly exit the office into the ward's main room, lined with neatly-made but currently empty beds – not sparing even a single glance back at the shocked faces she had left in the office.

She quickly made her way to the one bed that was occupied and took up the seat at the bedside, which Elizabeth had abandoned several hours earlier. She raised a hand to run softly through one child's hair, and then the other's, before bending forward at the waist to sit with her elbows resting on her knees and wait for one to wake up.

Professor Dumbledore had been surprised at his former pupil's reaction to their bad news. Knowing Andromeda's spirited nature and the fire she exhibited when it came to those she considered family, he had expected yelling and irate lecturing. Instead, she had just left the office and joined the children in the ward. He, Professor McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey had of course followed and now stood around the occupied patient bed waiting for any changes that might come.

He spent this period thinking over every aspect of their situation – past, present, and definitely future until his thoughts were interrupted by a now-awake Elizabeth's excited proclamation.

"He's waking up! I can hear him again, he's waking up!" she practically shouted.

Though Dumbledore himself could see no outward sign that this was the case, he trusted that Elizabeth would know better than anyone if it was.

Professor Dumbledore turned his attention to the two small children entwined on the infirmary bed – one still seemingly unconscious. Harry's forehead was now pressed to Elizabeth's cheek as she used one hand to hold it there, the other arm still around his body holding it tight against her own.

The others all cast him looks of doubt as they looked on at an as-yet still unconscious Harry. All but Andromeda, that is. She did not bother to raise her questioning eyes to Dumbledore, but instead moved them back and forth between the children.

Just before Madam Pomfrey intended to point out the boy's unchanged state aloud, all were surprised by a soft noise from the bed.

"Mhmm…" Harry moaned, more confused and disoriented than anything else, "Iz?"

She said nothing in response. At least, not that the rest of them could hear.

_It's me, Harry. I'm right here. You okay?_

_Izzy, where am I? What happened? Why does everything hurt so much?_

_We're at Hogwarts, Harry, remember? The train ride and then that little boat? You were pretty out-of-it. Your uncle hurt you pretty bad last night, worse than we thought. And I know it hurts but I think some of the aches are actually because you're getting better._

She could feel his confusion and frustration, unsuccessfully trying to remember their journey from King's Cross – which just so happened to be the last point from which he had any clear memories.

_So we made it then? We're actually _at_ Hogwarts?_ Disbelief was clear in his mental 'tone'.

_We made it, Harry. We actually _made_ it, we're finally here. But you'll have to open your eyes to see for yourself._

Slowly, he cracked his eyes open, half-blinking repeatedly in an effort to avoid the pain of the bright light as his eyes adjusted to it.

After the boy's first sounds and Elizabeth's failure to respond verbally to Harry's call, Dumbledore was quite certain the two were communicating silently with one another. So the Headmaster took advantage of this period of silence to get the ball rolling on other things.

"Fawkes," he called his familiar and was joined by the majestic phoenix only seconds later.

"Hello, old friend, it's been quite the day. Would you mind terribly fetching the Sorting Hat for me? I assume the Ceremony has concluded and it is no longer in use in the Great Hall. Great thanks, my friend," he addressed the phoenix before it returned a single steady note of reply and disappeared in a flash of flames.

He turned away from where his familiar had just vanished into thin air and back to the children on the bed, where he found that young Harry had begun to open his eyes and was blinking them rapidly in adjustment.

"Ah, Mister Potter, we're so glad to have you join us," the Headmaster welcomed.

"Thaaa-," Harry tried to speak but his voice left his mouth as more of a croak. He held a hand to his dry throat as he turned his eyes pleadingly towards Elizabeth.

"He needs water," she stated bluntly. Then she rolled her eyes at Harry and huffed before she corrected, "He would like to ask if he could _please_ have a little bit of water."

Madam Pomfrey jumped a bit as the meaning of the words clicked in her head and she set off to fulfill the request, realizing that this was something she would normally have already thought to do.

Harry's annoyed glare at Elizabeth had Minerva McGonagall once again struggling to maintain her composure. What was it with these two small, black-haired children that had her so off-balance? As amusing as the two boys had been, even Harry and Elizabeth's fathers – both of whom she'd been _quite_ fond of – had never managed to 'throw her off her game' (as they had liked to refer to their goal when trying to break her stern composure) in such a manner and certainly not without even trying!

For some reason, the interactions between the two children in front of her and even the sassy attitude Elizabeth had displayed before Harry woke had her constantly battling a case of the giggles. She had no idea why the boy and girl amused her so – certainly they were not the funniest students she had ever had. So what was it?

As she pondered this, Poppy Pomfrey had returned bearing a glass of water with a straw, which she held near Harry's mouth as Elizabeth actually placed the straw between his dry lips.

After gulping down nearly the entire glass, Harry let the straw fall from between his lips as his now-rehydrated tongue darted out to moisten them once again.

He thanked Madam Pomfrey with a nod of his head as he began clearing his throat in preparation to retry his hand at speaking with his voice.

He swallowed one more time before beginning anew, "Thank you."

"You're very welcome, Mister Potter," the mediwitch politely replied.

No one else spoke. Since even Dumbledore seemed content to merely observe for the moment, Madam Pomfrey took the lead to satisfy her medical concerns.

"Mister Potter, we've been speaking to Elizabeth while you were unconscious and she tells us that your present injuries were inflicted by one Vernon Dursley and that this is _not_ the first instance in which he has injured you in such a manner. Is this correct, Mister Potter?"

Harry had turned to Elizabeth in shock when the nurse had mentioned his uncle by name.

_You told them!? … How could you, Izzy? You know what'll happen if _he_ finds out I told someone!_

Izzy felt Harry roll through a spectrum of emotions – first his surprise at hearing Vernon's name spoken by the mouth of a stranger, then his outrage that Izzy had revealed such information without consulting him – which he considered a betrayal of sorts, and finally his fear of the repercussions he would face when or if his uncle ever found out that Harry had (however indirectly) told on him.

His fear was then joined by anger. Izzy _knew_ what Uncle Vernon would do and yet she had told anyway – and told a bunch of strangers, no less!

Harry had only been allowed to fume for a matter of seconds before his anger was overtaken by Izzy's own, as she removed both of her hands from his body and crossed her arms over her chest as she ranted.

_How could I? How _could_ I!? … How could _you_ even ask me something like that? Of course I know what your Uncle Vernon will do if he ever finds out! How could I not? And that's _exactly_ why I did it!_

Her rage had actually caught Harry off-guard, keeping him silent as she mentally chewed him out. He had expected her to be remorseful for opening her mouth to strangers on a topic that she had no right to share without his permission. Instead, he found her thoroughly pissed-off – at _himself_, no less.

_Our entire lives I've had to watch as he beat you for no reason. _Every time_ I've watched as he hurt you and hated myself for not being able to do anything._

_Maybe I wouldn't have said anything, at least not today, if it hadn't been so bad last night. Maybe I would have just been happy enough to have you safe, away from that monster, and here with me for now. But that's not what effing happened! Last night he went too damn far, so I can't – no, I **won't** just sit back and watch him get away with it anymore! Not if I can help it!_

Her fury had her so worked up she was now panting slightly. At this point the 'tone' of both her thoughts and her feelings softened drastically and her voice sounded quiet, almost teary, in his head. The shift in her attitude was enough to prompt Harry (whose body was now responding a bit better to his commands than before) to turn on his side facing her and wedge the arm previously trapped between their bodies underneath her slightly-smaller frame, wrapping both arms around her shoulders and pulling her body against his. She had uncrossed her arms and now they lay against his chest, folded in half at the elbows and sandwiched between their bodies, as she gripped the collar of the hospital gown with her tiny fists and buried her face in the nook bounded by Harry's chin and collarbone on two sides, his neck and the pillow beneath his head on the opposite two.

_Harry, the nurse said that you would have died if we'd gotten here even an hour later than we did. You almost _died_, Harry. I've never been so scared-out-of-my-mind in my entire freaking life, you idiot._

He could feel hot, wet tears dripping onto and easily soaking through the thin material of the hospital gown that covered his shoulder.

And now he felt like a world-class jerk for yelling at her.

'_S okay, Iz. I'm right here and I promise not to go anywhere anytime soon. Okay?_

She just nodded her head against his shoulder as she tried to force an end to the sounds of her sobs and staunch the flow of tears.

Andromeda observed the children as they apparently carried on a full conversation between themselves without ever speaking a word. She had never seen anything like it.

Just then, Harry opened his eyes again and found the faces of four still unknown adults looking back at him.

The stout, matronly witch who had brought him the water began to re-cast his diagnostics and apparently approved of what she found.

"Now that's looking much better. Still be here for days yet, recovering, but totally out of the woods now," she announced to the room.

The dark-featured woman seated right up next to the bed spoke next, "So Dursley? That's who did this?"

There was no point lying to try and back-track now, they already knew.

"Yes, ma'am," he shyly answered.

"Well then, that's the end of that, now isn't it?" she seemed to speak to no one in particular, but had nonetheless effectively ended that entire line of conversation for now with a harsh glare up at the ancient looking wizard behind the half-moon spectacles.

No one was quite sure where to take the conversation next. The silence between them all was rapidly becoming awkward and uncomfortable. Fortunately for the entire group, Fawkes chose that very moment to return from the quest on which Dumbledore had dispatched him. Clutching the tattered school Sorting Hat in his beak, Fawkes had brought them a relatively straightforward option to pass the time before they must inevitably turn the discussion to more serious matters.

"Ah! Thank you, good friend. I greatly appreciate your help. I suppose I shall not return to the office for quite some time still, but I owe you a treat when I do so remind me," Dumbledore assured his familiar, excusing him to return to his warm, comfortable perch, elsewhere in the castle.

Once the magnificent magical bird had gone once more in a flash of flames Dumbledore turned to the two unsorted children, delicately holding the school's sentient Sorting Hat in both hands.

"Mister Potter, Miss Black, this is the Hogwarts Sorting Hat. The Sorting Hat examines the hearts and minds of incoming first year students to place them in the House that best suits their individual personality and values. Unfortunately, you two missed its annual song but that should have no bearing on the Hat's placement of either of you," Dumbledore explained.

"Here, Miss Black. Why don't you put him on first, as Black comes before Potter alphabetically," he said as he passed the worn, old Hat to Elizabeth on the bed.

Somewhat anxiously, Elizabeth placed the Sorting Hat over her head, where its excessive width caused the brim to fall far enough down her face as to cover her eyes. Everyone watched and waited for several minutes until Elizabeth removed the Hat, without it having declared her House assignment.

She passed the tattered Hat over to Harry as she answered the confused looks on everyone else's faces by explaining, "The Hat told me to give him to Harry and have Harry put him on before he can make any decisions."

The looks of confusion were replaced by ones of shock, informing Izzy that her answer had not been as clear an explanation as she might have thought. She couldn't have known, but the Hat had _never_ done something like this before.

Following her instructions, Harry put the Hat on next and, after only thirty seconds to a minute of deliberation, exclaimed, "GRYFFINDOR!" Followed closely by another, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry removed the sentient accessory and passed the item back to the Headmaster.

Out of curiosity, Dumbledore donned the unique hat, who was in fact more of an old friend than just a hat, hoping for a quick explanation of the odd behaviour.

_Ah, Headmaster! A delight, as always. Yes, I figured you would feel that an explanation was required._

_I'd like to preface with the fact that I do not, in fact, owe you – or anyone else – explanations for any of my placements, nor the manner in which I determine them._

_However, out of my rather great respect for you, your deep concern for the well-beings of both Miss Black and Mister Potter, and the possible implications of what I've learned today, I will tell you that my reason for not sorting Miss Black until after I had examined Mister Potter as well was that I felt the two _must_ be sorted together._

_I have to say, Albus, I've never seen two individuals so thoroughly and inexorably connected. Not even any of the hundreds of sets of twins I've sorted over the years have been linked in such a manner._

_Yes, yes, it's just as you thought. Their minds and souls, while clearly defined and totally distinct from one another, are somehow fully integrated as well._

_They live in a state of constant connection – always connected, even when they are unaware of such. It seems that the years of separation, during which _both_ children were completely socially isolated, have led them to both the ability to somewhat control aspects of the connection as well as an irreversible dependence upon other aspects of it._

_While their minds and souls are connected but separate, they share a single magical reservoir. Their magical cores are so tightly bound to each other _at the moment_ – in an effort to heal Harry's body – that it's almost as though they were one, but when it comes to their reservoir they truly have only one between the two of them._

_Yes, that's exactly what you saw earlier. _His_ body was drawing magic directly from _her_ core to heal itself, by way of their shared reservoir._

_It seems they require direct physical contact in order to draw from one another's cores. However, their shared magical reservoir should always be available to both no matter where they are._

_I believe the reservoir has been combined since both survived the very curse that first connected them as infants. Since then, it has developed in a never-ending cyclical – not to mention somewhat exponential – nature._

_Separation required their magical cores to strengthen in order to be able to access and utilize magic from the shared reservoir – which was stretched quite thin by the distance between them. The growth of their cores, in turn, caused an increase in the amount of magic available within the reservoir._

_As they aged and experienced situations that required ever-more magic to be drawn from the reservoir, it would again become stretched thin across the distance of their separation and the cycle would begin again._

_I should warn you, Albus…now that they have been physically reunited, not only have their cores – which are several times larger than that of the average witch or wizard – drawn tightly together, but their magical reservoir is no longer stretched across any sort of distance._

_All in all, what I'm trying to say is that both have far more power than other children, which may become problematic and possibly even dangerous to the other pupils they share classes with. Until they can be taught to properly sense the amount of power they are drawing upon while casting spells, be very careful of allowing them to participate in wand-heavy subjects._

_There may also be other unanticipated consequences of their reunion, so pay close attention and beware._

_Good luck, Headmaster!_

And finally, the Hat had fallen silent in Dumbledore's head.

After both Harry and Elizabeth had apparently been sorted into Gryffindor – although she wasn't positive that this was, in fact, the case due to the strange manner in which the Sorting Hat had done it – Dumbledore put on the Hat while Andromeda observed another silent conversation between the two children on the bed. No one had filled her in on the earlier conversation that had been had with Elizabeth; she could just tell that this was indeed what was happening in front of her by their slightly glazed eyes and the body language they displayed – just as if they had been having a conversation out loud – despite never opening their mouths.

Harry's eyes shifted from one adult to another, moving to Elizabeth's own in between each shift. They finally settled upon Andromeda and she got the distinct impression that Harry was becoming rather frustrated with Elizabeth, who could not see the woman as she faced the other way. Silence once again filled the Hospital Wing and Harry seemed to be studying her carefully.

Roughly a minute after Dumbledore had first disappeared under the Hat, Andromeda broke the silence of the ward by interrupting the children's conversation.

"Well, since it seems that he's too busy to properly introduce me… Hello, Harry, Elizabeth," she announced, nodding to each of them as she spoke their names.

"My name is Andromeda Tonks, but that's my married name. My maiden name was Andromeda Black. I am your father's closest cousin, Elizabeth."

"Cousin?" Elizabeth asked as she turned over in the bed to face Andromeda, so that Harry was essentially spooning her.

"But they only send kids that don't have _any_ family to the orphanage, "the girl mused. "Oh, unless their relatives don't want them…" she concluded with a mix of embarrassment and pain.

Seeing hurt cross the face of the tiny eleven year old, as she came to the conclusion that Andromeda had been given the option of taking her in but had not wanted her, broke the older woman's heart. Elizabeth's eyes had clouded with tears, but she was clearly fighting to keep any from falling as her face took on a defiant air in the struggle. Harry's arms tightened their hold on the girl's slightly smaller body, which lay alongside his own.

Andromeda quickly moved from the bedside chair to sit on the edge of the bed next to Elizabeth, leaning forward to place her left hand on Elizabeth's cheek where her jaw met her ear and running her right hand through the strands of the girl's silky, straight jet black locks – not unlike Andromeda's own.

"Oh sweetheart, please don't _ever_ think that I didn't want you. I did. Very much so," Andromeda consoled.

"In fact, I begged that I be allowed to raise _both of you_. Yes, you too, Harry," she assured the boy, after noticing his shock.

"I _wanted_ you both, but they wouldn't let me have you. Safety reasons – at least that's what I was told," she said with a glare in Dumbledore's direction that might have killed the old Headmaster had his eyes not still been protected within the Hat at that moment.

Almost as though he had felt the death-stare from Andromeda, Dumbledore emerged from underneath the Sorting Hat only seconds later, staring at both children with wonder and excitement.

His enthusiasm was instantly quashed by Andromeda's harsh tone as she leveled him with a single glare and demanded, "Get talking, Professor. My patience has worn thin."

"Huhuhm," he nervously cleared his throat.

She continued on in a commanding tone, "You're going to start at the beginning, tell the entire story – and anything else you might know. You will leave out no details – even if you are aware that some of us already know them – so that we _all_ get the complete picture. And then you will answer any and all questions that we may have. Have I made myself clear?"

Professor Dumbledore sighed in resignation. "Yes, yes, you're right, Andromeda. You all deserve to know the truth. But where to begin…"

After several moments of silence he appeared to have chosen what he believed to be an appropriate starting point.

"Ah, yes. Harry, has Elizabeth shared with you the information I gave her earlier? That your fathers-," he was cut off.

"Were best friends, yeah," the boy quietly interrupted. He immediately looked as though he regretted having done so, lowering his gaze and appearing to shrink in on himself, but any of his fears were alleviated when the old Headmaster continued on as though nothing had happened.

"Yes, practically inseparable. Well then. When your parents went into hiding in the late summer of 1981, they used the Fidelius Charm to do so. Under the Fidelius Charm, the protected information – in this case the location of the house in which you and your parents were hiding out – cannot be known to anyone who does not learn it directly from the Secret Keeper. Even those who have already been told the secret are unable to pass the information along by any means they might attempt. The Secret Keeper is the only one who can reveal the information. The Potter's made it known that their Secret Keeper was Sirius Black – your father, Elizabeth," the old wizard revealed.

Both Elizabeth and Harry's faces showed touches of surprise but otherwise remained mostly clear, leading him to believe that they had decided to reserve judgment for the moment. So he continued.

"At the time of your births, Magical Britain was deeply entrenched in war with a dark wizard, calling himself Lord Voldemort, and his supporters, the Death Eaters, who believed that maintaining the purity of magical bloodlines was of the utmost importance and that only those born into traditional magical families should be allowed to practice magic. Not all of these traditional magical families, known as purebloods, believed in Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters' ideas of blood purity though. Some pureblood families – like the Potters and your mother's family, Elizabeth, the Moody family – were staunch supporters of the Light and believed in equality regardless of ancestry or blood."

"Harry, your mother – as you may have guessed by your aunt's extreme aversion to all things magical – was Muggleborn. During the War, Muggles and Muggleborns faced the greatest peril from Lord Voldemort and his forces than any other group in our society, simply because they had not been born to witches and wizards. 'Blood-traitors', or those purebloods who chose to defend Muggles and Muggleborns, were not far behind – the Potters and Moodys were considered 'blood-traitors'."

Dumbledore paused to take several very deep breaths and prepare himself. The next part would be the hardest.

"Elizabeth, your father's family – the Blacks, of which Andromeda here was also once a member, was a Dark bloodline. Most of the family's members supported Lord Voldemort and devotedly upheld the ideals of blood purity. Andromeda was officially disowned by the House of Black for her marriage to a Muggleborn wizard, Ted Tonks. Your father, Sirius, publicly denounced his membership and declared himself a defender of the Light but was never disinherited from the family, after the death of his brother left him the only Black within the direct male line. Is all of this making sense so far?" he asked.

Both nodded in affirmation, but the slightly confused look to their faces made him doubt that they really did understand all the implications the various bloodlines and allegiances held. He decided to continue, regardless. He could always return to this information later, if need be.

So far, he had really only been addressing the two children still lying in the bed before him. The three witches present had all been alive – if not active participants – during the War against Voldemort, so they were more than familiar with the background facts. Moving on he was sure to be questioned deeply, as much of the upcoming information would be new to the three witches, as well as the children. He sighed heavily before beginning…

"On the evening of October 31st, 1981, James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, and Sarah Moody Black, were murdered by Lord Voldemort himself in the Potter home, which had been hidden for months under the Fidelius Charm on the outskirts of the village of Godric's Hollow. The _only_ way Voldemort could have possibly discovered the Potters' location is if he had been directly told by the Secret Keeper himself, Sirius Black."

He paused for nearly half a minute, to allow the new information to be fully absorbed. While everyone knew that Sarah Black had been killed the same night her good friends the Potters were, Dumbledore had managed to keep secret the fact that all three deaths had in fact occurred in a single attack on the Potter home by the Dark Lord himself.

"After killing James, Lily, and Sarah, Lord Voldemort approached the crib, in which two babies laid. When he lifted his wand again, he cast an _Avada Kedavra_ killing curse directed at the crib. For reasons unknown, instead of killing one or both of you with the curse, he was struck by his own curse as it rebounded back at him. You two are the only known survivors of the _Avada Kedavra_ curse," he informed the children.

All three witches simultaneously gasped in dramatic fashion at this new information, from their various positions around the infirmary bed.

He then cast _Tergeo_ to remove the Muggle make-up from Elizabeth's face, before continuing, "And that's what left you both with your very unique scars."

Andromeda had once again leaned forward, this time in a flash, and brushed Elizabeth's fringe away from her forehead to reveal the very distinct lightning-bolt-shaped curse scar that perfectly matched the one located in exactly the same spot on Harry's forehead.

The older woman's mouth fell open but no sound came out. She stared at the children like this for several seconds before she realized her mouth was hanging wide-open in an unflattering manner and moved a hand – the one that was not otherwise occupied with Elizabeth's hair – to cover it.

Andromeda managed to remove her gaze from Elizabeth's scar just long enough to cast it upon Dumbledore as she hesitantly clarified, "_Both_ of them? They were _both_ hit with a killing curse from You-Know-Who?"

Dumbledore solemnly nodded in confirmation. No one spoke for minutes following the big revelation. The witches needed time to process, while the children didn't know what to ask.

"No," Andromeda's firm voice finally broke the silence. "No, I don't believe it. I don't believe _any_ of it!"

Dumbledore, having not expected that they wouldn't believe him, concernedly turned to the black-haired witch and tried to convince her, "I assure you, Andromeda, all that I have recounted thus far is the truth. I said that I would give you all the truth today and I intend to keep my word."

"I believe you," she answered. "That's not what I meant when I said I didn't believe it."

She turned her head to gaze out the window behind the hospital bed's headboard and sighed.

"What I _don't_ believe is that Sirius would have done such a thing. Sirius loved James, Lily, _and_ Harry – I never believed that he would have surrendered them to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But now…now I _know_ he didn't do it. He would _**never**_ have endangered Sarah and Elizabeth. They were literally his whole world. He would have died before allowing anything to happen to the two of them…" she trailed off.

Her head snapped back to the scene in front of her, her gaze locking with the Headmaster's.

In a tone brooking no doubt, she reiterated, "He didn't do what they say, Albus. I'm positive. I know it with every fibre of my being. He didn't do this."

Without waiting for his response, she spoke again, this time seemingly more to the occupants of the room in general rather than Dumbledore alone.

Anger, conviction, and determination were clear for all to hear in her words,"We have to do something. Sirius Black is an innocent man."

**Author's Note:** That ending probably gives you a pretty good idea of where this fic is headed in the very near future.

I think this is probably the longest chapter I've ever written to date…yay, for long chapters!

Let me know what you think please! **REVIEW!**


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